Hey human, guess who’s now a time-traveling doggo?! 🐾 Zoomed back to Medieval Pawsburgh following my squeaky hedgehog & found way more than chew toys. Knightly buds, chivalry, chicken feasts – it’s tail-waggin’ history! Wrapped it up with a storm dodge and made it back for Beagle Bagels with pals. Time-travel? Pfft, it’s all about the company. Oh, and the hedgehog? It’s got an accent now 😜 Who knew I was a canine Doctor Who with fur? Adventure Lottie over & out! 🌟🐶✨

Listen to the story here

Every dog in Pawsburgh knows the legend of the Wandering Whisker, a mysterious vortex where time and space chase each other’s tails. It was said that on every full moon, it’d appear on Kelpie Keys, shimmering like the glaze on a Pom’s Pie. I, Lottie, had always been intrigued by such stories, but I was about as close to time travel as I was to liking citrus. So, naturally, you understand my shock when one peculiar evening, brimming with the scent of adventure and Beagle Bagels, I stumbled right into the heart of the Wandering Whisker.

Chasing my squeaky hedgehog, which had bounced into an iridescent puddle that wasn’t there a second ago, I found myself feeling a bit like Amelia Earhart if she had fur and an exceptional dislike for thunder. The Wandering Whisker had whooshed me away, and just like that, I was not in Kelpie Keys anymore.

“Weren’t you supposed to be at Wagging Whisk grooming? Get a load of this queen,” snickered a passing Cocker Spaniel sporting a poodle cut straight out of a fifteenth-century dog painting.

Unbelievably, the Wandering Whisker had zipped me back to Medieval Pawsburgh: a tapestry of bustling markets where The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy now sold potions and elixirs, and a round table at Quartz Qimmiq Quarter where the noble hounds discussed chivalry and chew toys.

“Hey, Lottie,” a familiar bark called out, “what’s with the bewildered look? Cat got your tongue – or rather your time-traversing hedgehog?”

I spun on my paws to see Bruno clad in a rather dashing suit of armor, his drool glistening like the morning dew on Saluki Sands.

“Whoa, did Mrs. Bramley’s love for Renaissance fairs intensify? Because, buddy, you’re nailing it,” I said, my tail betraying my facade of coolness by its ecstatic wagging.

Bruno let out a guffaw thicker than the broth at Pom’s Pies. “We’re time-traveling, Lottie. It’s like Doctor Who, but in barks. So, which era did you escape?”

“More like what era did I accidentally fetch?” I quipped, the twinkle in my eye finding its match in Bruno’s helmet visor.

Miffy trotted up, her ears decked with ribbons. “Listen, forget the era! We’ve got a feast to attend, and you know they’ll have chicken.”

My ears perked up at the mention of chicken. Still, the thought of a loud and bustling feast made me nervous. Thunder was scary enough, but a medieval banquet? Cue the internal monologue about whether I had the poise to handle such situations without my Mrs. Bramley. Spoiler: Of course, I do.

“And guess what, Lottie?” Miffy whispered, her snout nudging my side, “We’ve devised a plan to wrap up before the thunderstorm hits.”

It was at that moment I realized I was part of a squad that could time-travel, sniff out savories, and look out for me all at once.

As the sky began to grumble with the promise of a storm, Bruno wrapped a comforting paw around my shoulder. “Ready to run before the rumble?”

I nodded, my heart a fluttering pup once more.

Together, we barked a command and whooshed back to the present Pawsburgh just in time to avoid the first roar of thunder. There, I joined my friends at Beagle Bagels, stuffing our faces and laughing about our time-trotting tails. And as we shared stories with a few scratches behind the ears, I realized that I hadn’t just traveled through time – I’d also discovered the secret to an adventure: it wasn’t the era you were in, but the friends by your side.

And, oh, the hedgehog? Let’s just say it squeaks with an old-world charm now.

The End.