Hey Mom,

Just a quick ‘tail’ to tell you I’ve become an accidental pirate in doggie time-travel – found buried treats and dodged cannonballs. Bizarre? Absolutely. But that’s life when you’re AbbyGail, the Golden Beagle time adventurer. Now, with a slice of Pup-Tastic Pizza in paw, I’m plotting my next historical hijinks. Wish me luck!

Love,
Abbs 🐾✨

In the fluff-tickling breezes of Spencerville, where the fire hydrants bloom eternal and fireplaces flicker without cessation, lies a tail – I mean, tale – of AbbyGail, the Golden Beagle with the whimsical white stripe and a penchant for time-hopping escapades. That’s me, by the way, your four-legged narrator with a nose for adventure and a stomach for tuna treats, not citrus fruit. Perish the thought.

Imagine, if you will, a bright Spencerville morning, with the sunlight cascading over Eastern White Westie Woods like warm maple syrup over hot flapjacks. I was visiting The Snooty Snout Boutique for my customary bow tie fitting (a Golden Beagle must maintain her debonair demeanor, after all), when the fabric of reality began to unravel faster than a ball of yarn in a kitten cabaret.

From the depths of The Howling Husky Hardware Store, I heard a whirring sound, reminiscent of a can opener at dinner time. Making my way through the canine throngs smelling like chew toys and optimism, I stumbled – quite literally – upon a contraption nestled between the dog beds and the DIY bone kits.

The Howling Husky’s owner, a schnauzer named Schnitzel with a monocle that made him look both intellectual and ready to chase a mailman at a moment’s notice, winked. “Ever dreamt of sniffing the past, AbbyGail?” he asked, with a tilt of his distinguished, stubby snout.

I cocked my head. Time travel hadn’t been on my to-do list, but the idea of dancing through the ages, bringing a piece of history back in the form of spectacular smells, was as tantalizing as a squirrel on a slow jog.

And so, the dial turned, the cogs spun, and with a leap that would score a 10 in the Olympic Doggo Diving Competition, I plunged into the swirling vortex of time, tail first, my bark echoing through the ages.

I arrived at Upper Black Bulldog Bay during the Golden Age of Piracy, not entirely by choice. Before me, a gang of pirate pugs hoisted their flags and prepared to set sail. Their leader, a gruff ol’ pug with an eye patch over one beady eye and a snore that could rattle your flea collar, commandeered my assistance. “Woof, ye landlubber, ye be swimming with the fishes if ye don’t ‘elp us find the buried treats!”

So, off we sailed, dodging cannonballs and surfboarding on sharks, my heart thumping to the rhythm of sea shanties. Each island we visited smelled more fantastic than the last; the coconuts sniffed of tennis balls, the beaches bore a rich scent of bacon.

Many a mystery and song-filled night passed until at last, I sniffed out the “X” that marked the spot. Digging with the fervor of a hound after a particularly devious mole, I unearthed the treasure chest, which, lo and behold, contained the most coveted booty of all—vintage chew toys.

I returned to my present, just in time for the reserves of the Pup-Tastic Pizza to replenish. As I munched on a slice with extra sausage—never citrus, thank you very much—I debated where and when to go next. Ancient Egypt to woo Cleocatra? The Renaissance to paint a paw-trait with Leonardo Dog Vinci?

Till then, this is AbbyGail, signing off with a signature tail wag. May the scent of your adventures always be pleasing and the wind at your back never from an impolite bulldog.

The End.

Share This Story: