Hey, just popped back from the PAWst – yep, you guessed it, another time-tripping adventure in old Pawsburgh. Twas a tail-wagging throwback with steakhouse vapors and bonafide bone boutiques. Made friends with my blue dragon in a time long before it knew me and before the piles of Baker’s pies at home. Will tell tales over kibbles soon. A hoot and a half! 🐾 Time-Traveling Tails, Anaday

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Ah! There’s that tingling again, behind my ears—a sure sign I’m about to slip through the veil of time with my paws paddling towards a rather unexpected odyssey. Call it intuition or the whispers of a Chihuahua’s heart, but as I lay on my patchwork quilt, the world of Maple and Oak Street began to blur into a canvas of swirling pastels.

How queer it is, the way time bends—rather like a long, juicy noodle, the kind with a scent that tickles the nostrils delightfully—drawing me into its saucy, historical mélange. A blink, a sneeze, and there I was, amidst the Diamond Doberman Dunes, only it’s no longer the Pawsburgh of my timeline; it’s the Pawsburgh when it was but a young pup of a town.

In this bygone era, the dunes glisten like a rich man’s fancy, untouched by the scuttle of modern paws. I can discern the vapors of Setter’s Steakhouse in the distance—yes, the steakhouse of legend, serving up the Sir Loin’s cut in times when my relatives were just a twinkle in the milkman’s eye. I ponder a visit, my tummy doing the rumbling talk for me.

But carry on I must; the trail lures me to Papillon Promenade, where the boutiques of days past beckon with window displays of finery and bones that would make any dog’s tail wag a sonnet. At Happy Hounds Dog Walking, the pooches parading past wore collars embedded with tales of a time I never chewed.

“Splendid, isn’t it?” Bentley would have said, his wise old Labrador drawl tickling my fancy. But Bentley and the terriers are whispers in this time’s wind, and even Duchess’s royal purr is but a future’s promise. And so, as a solitary, time-traveling Chihuahua, I sauntered, the tiniest historian on four legs.

Just as I regard the Vizsla Valley, a leap echoes through time—it’s Polly and Kip! Or rather their ancestors, a rollick who defy the relentless march of time with their untiring zest. “To the future!” they bark. And with a wink and a sniff, they dash through an unseen portal. Cheeky rascals are the same in every era, it seems.

It’s at the Wagging Tail Bookstore I rest my haunches, savoring the scent of old tales and new, or perhaps it’s the other way around. Among the tomes, I spy my blue dragon, lively and robust, with both eyes keen. It leaps into my arms, in this time not yet known as my valiant friend, but a mere toy on the shelf. I wonder if it remembers me, as I do it.

But do you hear that? A sound from home, the scratch of nails on a door, the whine of reality calling. And before I can bark “Timey-Wimey,” I’m swooshing back to my nook at the corner of Maple and Oak.

As I blink into the amber glow, my blue dragon, steadfast at my side, once again shows the wear of present-day play. I turn to Mrs. Baker’s fleeting pies, a whiff of turkey teasing my senses, and carrots causing my nose to wrinkle.

With a satisfied yawn, I decide not to share today’s tale with Ms. Lavender just yet. We time-traveling pets keep our secrets, after all. It’s the enigma that tickles; the chase of the unknown that keeps our tales wagging, chasing the ever-spinning, infinite loop of what was, what is, and the splendid mystery of what shall be.

The End.

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