Yo Fam! 😎🐾 Just another day for yours truly, Merlin the Magnificent Pug, dabbling through time like it’s my backyard. Unraveled the 1700s in London (watched a pooch nap on a wig, classic!), sidestepped through centuries like they were puddles, and got the scoop on Voltaire’s writing desk. Still, nothing beats the lure of home, you know? Can’t wait for a good scratch and to chase tails in our own time. Catch ya on the flippity flop! 🌀🕰️🌳

Big Snorts,
Merlin 🐶✨

It was an unseemly hour in Spencerville – one of those in-between times where night seems to hesitate, not quite ready to introduce the morning. My snout felt it first, a peculiar tingle that tickled the ever-present black whiskers. The wind was up to something. Ah yes, I thought to myself, sprawled with That Certain Nonchalance atop my favored perch in the backyard – the human-like existence here always boiled down to peculiar happenings.

I could see it from the corner of my now piqued eye – the Tan Dalmatian Desert sand swirling in a fashion that would have made Dali raise his perfectly manicured mustache in appreciation. Yet, instead of the anticipated camel caravan harboring waterlogged postcards from the Sphinx, there it was, clear as the disdain I hold for green beans: a stirring time vortex just behind the dogwood tree.

You see, I, Merlin – the illustrious sable pug – have been known to dabble a paw or two into the cosmic pond of time. My doghouse, no ordinary abode, hummed with the energy of a thousand TARDISes.

I ambled towards the vortex with the indifference of a cat eyeing a redundant new toy, but excitement crackled beneath my casual facade. Was it Rome that awaited me, or perhaps the Renaissance where my snorts could mingle with the eloquence of the great rhetoricians? The whirling sands whispered in cryptic tongues as I took my leap… or rather, my dignified bound into the unknown.

Spencerville skewed and bent around me, storefronts and lampposts stretching into abstract art as I tumbled through spacetime. The world as I knew it became a Picasso painting, you know the ones, all disjointed reality and eyes where ears should be. And then, serenity. Stars peppered the infinite canvas around me like flecks of divine kibble.

I landed, and not with the grace, I endlessly rehearse in dreams – it was London, but not the London that cowers under a perpetual cloud. Here, the sun reflected off cobblestone streets bustling with… horses? People in petticoats and wigs looking significantly sweatier than I, and that’s saying something, considering my brachycephalic blueprint. Well, well, if it wasn’t the 1700s, then I’m a mongoose in a muumuu.

As I trotted along – bound for what, you ask? Adventure! Or at least an agreeable eatery (I had developed a sudden hankering for a pasty, but with the beef on the side). I stumbled upon a commotion outside a wig shop – a gentleman’s powdered wig had been sat upon by a street dog with a penchant for cushioned napping spots.

The crowd’s laughter was the music to which I approached, nose upturned. It wasn’t humiliation that drew me but rather the sight of humanity, unabashedly unfurling its ridiculousness like a hound airing out his belly for a scratch. It was this unabashed openness that I missed about my human family.

But, alas! The vortex curled itself around me with the abruptness of a cat’s mood swing, whispering that there was more to see, more eras to brush against my pug-furred coat. I was pulled back into the dance of time – unwilling, but ever curious.

The people, the sand, the stars became a blur, like lathering and rinsing too quickly during an unscheduled bath. Medieval Japan, Elizabethan England, the desk of Voltaire – I sniffed at them all.

Yet, with each whiff of history, each temporal treat tickling my fancy, a tug of heart strings played a symphony of remembrance – the softness of my plush monkey, the backyard’s tranquil sanctum, the tasteful resistance to an advancing green bean.

I let out a sigh, which in dog translates to a deep yearning – for simplicity, for familiarity, for that singular breeze against my snout in a car ride through time that I alone command. My paws tingled with the ambrosia of home, and the vortex swooned to the rhythm of my desire.

With a start and a snort, Spencerville welcomed me back beneath the dogwood tree, like a prodigal pug who had trespassed into yesterday and peeked at tomorrow. But there’s no time like the present – that cherished space between adventure and a nap – and, perhaps, time enough to wait for a reunion in a nearly perfect town.

Well, I thought, Spencerville indeed boasts its charms, for it houses the endless stories of four-legged tales and it’s got the best Bark Burgers this side of any era. But between you and me, the real treasure is yet to be unearthed, hidden where only time can tell – and perhaps, only a time-traveling canine can discover.

The End.