Hey Mom & Dad,

Just a quick pupdate: Turned detective in Pawsburgh, time-traveled to the ’20s to solve a tail-tangling mystery, and had a face-off with my own doppelganger! 🕵️🐾 All in a day’s woof for your son, the pawfessional enigma. Back to the future and loafing on the couch now. 😎🐶

Licks and wags,
Ulric 🐾✨

Like a hamburger without the bun, what’s a town without a good mystery to sink your teeth into? I’m Ulric, and by jowls, I’m that mystery in Pawsburgh. Yeah, that dog. I know, I know, my coat looks like it was painted by a Renaissance artist with a penchant for drama—told ya, capital ‘M’ Mystery.

So here I am, sprawled across my throne of human laps, dreaming of the good old days in the Mesozoic – wouldn’t mind a go at those squirrels’ great-great-ancient-relatives, if you catch my drift. When suddenly, the Stuffed Beaver winks at me. No, not metaphorically; you think I’ve been chewing on fermented bones again? It actually winks!

“Alright, Beave,” I gruffly murmur. “Let’s turn back the clock.”

And with a tail-wag and a lick, whisk, we’re off. Where? Spaniel Springs in the era of the ‘Roaring Twenties’, the hot dog’s knees. Except, my four knees find themselves knee-deep in the past.

Every fur in Pawsburgh is donning flapper dresses or pinstriped suits. I zero in on a fluff bootlegging kibble behind Barker’s Bakery. “Hello, doll,” I greet her, but Lady Greyhound only flutters her luscious lashes and brushes on by, puppy tail in silent swing. I’m told that courtesy works differently here, where’s a mouse when you need translation?

I stroll down Bichon Boulevard, a thrilling thoroughfare back in my present. Here, it’s less about the Pooch Playhouse and more about avoiding being splashed by those old Model T Ford Tin Lizzies. I huff, a dude needs style, and Canine Couture is merely a glint in some pup’s eye in this primitive time.

Then, a deja-bark. A mysterious figure, a bulldog, no less, in a bowtie, mind you – his energy familiar. Could it be? As I inch closer, the realization strikes. It’s ME. Yep, Ulric numero dos. Licking a double entendre into existence, we opponents engage in the ultimate high-stakes game of tug-of-war, right there in the tail-wagging heart of Shiba Inlet. Call it a meet and greet across timelines if you will.

So here we are, two bulldogs tugging on the fabric of spacetime, and may I bark, I still look fabulous in either century. Suddenly, the beaver has had enough, or maybe the universe has. With a decisive RIP, the temporal chew toy splits, and we’re sucked back to present-day Pawsburgh.

Back on Bichon Boulevard, now bustling with modern amenities, I bark out a laugh. Perhaps to the passerby, I’ve not much to show for my cheekiness besides a torn-up beaver toy and a few confused glances from the regulars at Terrier Tacos. “What a ride, huh?” I scoff, fitting for a Tina Fey script, but with more tail-wiggling, less eyeglasses.

Home at last, to Earth, with the memory of time-woven shenanigans and thrilling jumps through history. Another secret for the hushed grass at the park, another tale for me to narrate to a room full of snoozing humans.

Beaver sideliners down, but never out, the treasure of today remains the yellow squash stuffed with cheesy goodness, humanity’s gift. Until the next slip through the cosmic hydrant—this English Bulldog’s antics are the legends Pawsburgh will howl about for dog-years to come.

High-paws, gather ‘round. The chronicle of Ulric, the time-traveling English Bulldog, isn’t over yet – it’s just on paws.

The End.

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