Hey there! It’s me, Vito, the time-skipping terrier of Pawsburgh. Just wanted to say, I’ve been dashing through history, charming queens and wrangling with cowpokes. Each era’s a story and I’m living them all, weaving our pawsome history one wag at a time. Can’t wait to spill all my tails over a bowl at Puppy Plate. Catch you on the flip side of the hourglass! 🐾 – V-Time Voyager

Listen to the story here

I’ll admit, even among the avant-garde canines of Pawsburgh, the idea of a red and white Boston Terrier zooming through time raised a few perfectly groomed eyebrows. But I, Vito, am not your ordinary terrier; I’m a connoisseur of the extraordinary, a virtuoso of adventure, if you will.

It all began on a hazy Tuesday, or was it Wednesday? The days meld into one another like the delightful swirls of mocha at Woof Waffles. I’d just left Fido’s Feast with a rather aromatic take on Chicken à la King, when the fabric of reality trembled. To the uninformed eye, it was merely Cocker Courtyard on a breezy afternoon, but for those with a snoot capable of detecting the nuances of the cosmos, it was the crossroads of destinies.

In a blink quicker than a gulp of Puppy Plate’s signature beef broth, I found myself not padding past the playful fountains of Pearl Papillon Promenade but trotting along the cobbles of Victorian London. The scents were overwhelming—coal, worn leather, and, I dare say, a distinct lack of the modern grooming standards of The Groom Room.

In this sepia-tinted world of hansom cabs and gaslight, where was a dapper chap like me to go? “Well,” I said to the curious Pekinese eyeing me from the shadows, “when in Rome—or rather, London.”

Ah, the illustrious tales one could tell of Vito, the dandy dog about town, busking with Dickensian urchins and debating the finer points of squirrel-chasing with none other than Queen Victoria’s collies. It was a whirlwind, I assure you, as thrilling as a rambunctious bout of tug-o-war on Bichon Boulevard.

But time, much like a well-chewed bone, does not stay put for long. I felt the pull, the inexorable tug that whisks one from epoch to epoch. Off I went, from the dusty byways of the Old West, where my barks became the stuff of legend, whispered around campfires, to the crystalline future, where canines spoke in beeps and boops and The Wagging Tail Bookstore had transformed into a holographic library.

“And what, Vito,” asked Helga, the no-nonsense Shih Tzu that owned Best in Show Photography, “was the purpose of this temporal tomfoolery?”

Ah, Helga, if only I could capture it in a snapshot, a singular moment of meaning. But life, like history, is an intricate tapestry, woven from countless threads. Every era I visited was a patch on that grand quilt, each with its own tale to tell, its own marrow to savor.

Yet, amidst my rambling recollections at Puppy Plate—not unlike a particularly engaging chapter of ‘The Time Tail-Wagger’s Guide’—it struck me. The beauty of Pawsburgh was not just in the chase or the catch but in the sharing of those adventures with friends who wagged and purred with delight, even if some details were… shall we say… creatively embellished.

In Pawsburgh, dear reader, time flows not like a relentless river but like a game of fetch, with moments to be chased, caught, and then playfully released for the next eager paw. And I, your esteemed Vito, am but a humble storyteller, weaving wonders with a wink and a wag, bounding through time with a grin so broad, it could span millennia.

So until our next rendezvous—either here in the present where the heart beats true or there in the mystery of time’s embrace—keep your tails high and your stories ready. Who knows where I’ll dash off to next in this boundless game of cosmic fetch?

The End.

Share This Story: