Hey Mom,

Just another day in Spencerville – accidentally hopped through history again with Sinbad, dodged some dinos, and dazzled in Elizabethan ruffs. Missed Kahkseh’s wrinkly snout and Spencerville’s chew toys, though. There’s no place like home, especially with Lambchop waiting! Back now, chasing the simple joys and local scents.

Hugs and tail wags,
Mal 🐾

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Ah, Spencerville – the eclat of post-canine existence, where one can truly tail wag without the encumbrances of the dread earthly finalities. Though I must confess, it’s quite the lark given the eternal romp that has become my new reality. I, Malchik, the dog of many hues, am a creature of what you might consider a rather novel occupation: I am a time-traveling canine, a pet wandering not streets but epochs.

Take for instance, this brisk morning that found me and Sinbad poised on the cliffs of Beagle Beach, sniffing the brine of a sea untouched by the sorrows of maritime tragedy. Beagle Beach – a haven, one might say, for pups inclined to bathe their paws in the foamy tickles of tide. “Sinbad,” I addressed my comrade-in-paws with the casual air of a canine accustomed to historical jaunts, “what say you to a sojourn through time?”

Sinbad, ever the scoundrel, gave a sardonic lift of his eyebrow, enough to know his consent was as certain as the placement of The Bone Appetit on Barkington Avenue. Thus, we embarked to behold the spectacles of yesteryears, tails a-quiver with anticipation.

As I, at heart, am quite the loafer when it comes to the bed of one’s mother, it struck me deeply odd to lay my form upon a bed of ancient ferns in the lush mirage of a prehistoric jungle. Dinosaurs – you know, the great behemoths that evoke paroxysms of excitement in children – they trod beside us, mighty yet oddly less imposing when viewed through my antiquarian dog lens.

After a romp under those Jurassic boughs, which was as exhilarating as chasing an ever-elusive squirrel, I remarked to Sinbad that while the hunting was prime, the prospect of becoming prey was less appealing. Thrills notwithstanding, one misses the comforts of The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy’s allergy remedies when sinuses swell from the pollen of archaic flora.

We ventured on, feeling much like those chaps from Doctor Who, only more furry and infinitely more charming. To Elizabethan England, we wagged on four, our fur attracting more admiration than the Queen’s ruff. Then swiftly to the Roaring Twenties, where flappers and bootleggers found our capering through speakeasies the liveliest of diversions.

Yet, for all the sauntering amongst the epochs, I found myself pondering my beloved Kahkseh – oh, the way her snout wrinkled when presented with the unwanted affection of common houseflies! My thoughts too, often drifted to the bounty of food missed, for what is time travel to a gastronome when one cannot savor the chicken of Tudor feasts or share in the gluttonous delights of the French courts?

T’was on a time-bent stroll through the cobbled streets of ancient Rome that I found myself visibly aflutter. A dog nearby, believing himself the archetype of resolute bearing, watched with contempt as I spurned an offering of old-world spinach, and wailed at the approach of a particularly noisy chariot. For
though I travelled eras mightily, I never could abide loud sounds nor odious greens.

What I’m musing to impart to you, dearest paw-reader, is that for all the grandeur of time-bending romps and historic hooplas, Spencerville beckons the soul something chronic. After all, is there not more solace in the squeaky embrace of one’s toy Lambchop, than in the bards and ballads of far off lands?

And so I contentedly returned to my Spencerville amblings – an existence steeped equally in whimsy and predictability, from the sundry selection at The Howling Husky Hardware Store to the aromatic enchantments of Waggle n’ Wok.

In the quiet reposing of an ordinary day within our town’s gentle embrace, I, Malchik, understand that each foray through time only serves to augment the treasure of the everyday – the waiting, the longing, the simple joy of knowing that in Spencerville, one can always relish a moment’s reprieve until we rendezvous once more with our earthly companions.

The End.

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