Hey Mom,

Guess what? I’m the furry Dr. Who of Spencerville! 🐾 Been zipping around time, schooling pups on history & keeping crown jewels from crafty Dachshunds. Even though I’m a local hero & time-warp wanderer, I miss our simple hangouts. Just a chew toy’s tug away until I see you again. 🐶✨

Paw bumps & tail wags,
Mojo 🐕💫✉️

In Spencerville, where the fire hydrants are painted with golden swirls and the lampposts glow with the warmth of a thousand doggy dreams, I, Mojo, have found myself in the rather curious profession of a time-traveling tour guide. Ah yes, it’s as splendidly peculiar as it sounds.

My days – or is that centuries? – are a blur of moments woven from the annals of history. I escort a battalion of Basset Hounds through the courts of Cleopatra, marvel at the loping grace of Greyhounds in ancient Rome, and share a hearty laugh with an assembly of Airedale Terriers as we watch Shakespeare pen his plays, each of us silently betting on which bark will become immortalized in verse.

Yet, here in the comforting patchwork of mythical landscapes and the quite literal sands of time, I am hit by a pang of longing for the mundane reality of a dog park’s grass underpaw or the reassuring embrace of mom. But as time travelers, us canine custodians of history owe it to posterity to ensure the integrity of this beautiful oddity we call life.

Yesterday—or was it yesteryear?—I found myself sauntering down the Tan Dalmatian Desert (a landscape as whimsically barren as my own hindquarters) with Margaret, an Elizabethan pug of some distinction. She was quite taken with the idea that tan was simply a lighter shade of brown, and hence, royalty among colors. The debate was fierce, but, much like my reservations for popcorn on movie nights, easily settled.

Our discussion was interrupted when, with the buzz and the rattle characteristic of our time-travel booths (think less phone box, more doghouse), we were whisked away to the roaring twenties. There, I introduced her to the Charleston, noting that four legs wield a distinct advantage when it comes to dance floor theatrics but considerably less so in compact human speakeasies. Our pursuit of jollity lasted until the break of dawn, which, incidentally, was exactly at the time we had left thanks to the wonders of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… stuff.

It’s a canine carnival of chaos and charm, this life of ours. I’ve raced with dire wolves, debated with intelligent dolphins of the distant future, and shared a bowl of Pup-Tastic Pizza with a wise old Beagle who claimed to have known a very non-human Doctor.

But every adventure ends with the same solitary sojourn at Black Bulldog Bay, where I sit and philosophize over an untouched platter from The Bark Shak. Here, with the cool sea breeze juxtaposing the warmth of memory, I ponder the paradoxes of time and life, with the whispers of destiny tickling my floppy ears.

Ere long, I muse on my recent escapades in Victorian London, where I had to, with all due modesty, outwit a gang of streetwise Dachshunds out to pilfer the Crown Jewels. Imagine their sausage-shaped silhouettes darting through the foggy streets of the city. Utterly delicious to chase, let me assure you. Although, I ensured the precious baubles remained with the queen – the furry one, not the human – a Schnauzer who seemed rather taken aback by her own royal destiny.

Yes, I’m quite taken with this peculiar patchwork of past and present I skip about in, yet I find myself musing over how it’s the simple things—a chew toy, a car window’s breeze, a taco on a Tuesday—that anchor me in the tempest of infinity. These are the talismans against the bittersweet yearn for my human and our time together.

So here I am, in the twilight glow of East Pug Palace, a local hero once more—a vagabond in time, a confidant of eternity, waiting with a loyal heart for the triumphant reunion with my beloved human, in the serene knowledge that every tick-tock brings us closer.

And as the gearshifts of time thrum beneath my paws, I chuckle to myself and think: What a time to be alive… or whatever this spectacular in-between may be called.

The End.

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