Hey Mom,

Had quite the day in Pawsburg! Traveled through a ‘Time Tail Portal’ with Cocoa (imagine a furry, stinky TARDIS) and landed on the Titanic. We were dodging high-society humans and nearly hijacked a chicken feast, but got yanked back before the feast began. Survived time travel, but still prefer our local Rottweiler’s Ribs. Pawsburg isn’t just home; it’s a launchpad for endless doggone adventures.

Wags and waddles,
Grumpers

The moment I saw Cocoa, I knew something was amiss. The big oaf has the subtlety of a sledgehammer at a porcelain shop. But today, his tail was wagging with a rhythmic urgency usually reserved for dinner bells and doorbells.

“C’mon, Grump! Today’s the day!” Cocoa’s bark echoed through the streets of Pawsburg.

I followed, my curiosity piqued. The waddle I inherited from my front legs served not only as my signature walk but also a reminder. A reminder that every step was an adventure, awaiting.

We burst into Fetch! Toys and Treats, and there it was, hidden behind a stack of indestructible chew toys—a curtain of shimmering fur, undulating like the belly of a laughing dog. Cocoa called it the “Time Tail Portal.”

“Think of it like the TARDIS, but fuzzier and smellier,” Cocoa said, nudging me forward with a nose cold and wet.

I approached, Lamb chop squeaky toy clenched tightly between my jaws. “This better not involve water,” I muttered, the warning softening as the muffled squeak spoke.

Through the Time Tail Portal we stumbled, and just like that, the world shifted. The waddle inherited from my uneven legs suddenly transformed into a heroic strut as I found myself on the promenade deck of Titanic, the grand ship itself, lit up as if the very stars envied its splendor.

We had to be agile, sneaky—dogs aboard such a vessel would raise more questions than I cared to answer. But there we were, my best pal and I, dogs out of time, exploring corridors laden with human history.

“Try not to bark,” I whispered to Cocoa, who looked more likely to start a conga line than stay quiet. As we nosed our way through a throng of well-dressed passengers, I couldn’t help but glance skyward with hopeful puppy eyes. Were those liver treats I smelled, wafting through the air like an aromatic promise of feast to come?

Distracted by my liver-infused daydream, I barely noticed Cocoa had wandered off until a soft echo of a commotion reached my perked ears. I rushed past flabbergasted passengers, only to find my Labrador friend wearing a chef’s hat, presiding over a giant roasted chicken—a majestic sight to my chicken-loving heart.

Before I could join him, a force tugged at my collar, pulling me back through time. We emerged in the middle of Pawfect Pastries, back in Pawsburg, safe and sound. Onlookers gathered, their eyes wide with disbelief.

“Grumpy,” Cocoa panted between pants, “you chicken out?”

“Never,” I retorted, patting my Lamb chop toy like a proud knight with his sword. “But maybe we should stick to our own timeline’s culinary delights. Rottweiler’s Ribs sound good to you?”

He woofed in agreement; now that was the kind of timeline I could get behind.

As we trotted our way to the eatery, I realized what made Pawsburg unique. It wasn’t just a refuge for us while our humans were away—it was a gateway to countless adventures, where even a time-traveling, chicken-loving dog named Grumpy could savor every extraordinary moment, replete with friendship and, of course, the perfect rack of ribs.

In this little town of tails and tales, every waddle is a step through history—and a wag, a mark of time well spent.

The End.

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