Hey fam, you won’t believe this—Max and I just commandeered Doc Ruff’s retro time machine! We zipped from Spencerville to 1965 (no Doggy Donuts, horror!), had a wild adventure, and safely found our way back. I’m sticking to regular car rides from now on. 🐾 PS: Don’t ask Max—he’ll never stop bragging.🐶

Love,
Little Potato

You know, when it comes to car rides, I’m usually the first in line, hopping into the backseat like a kid on their birthday. I mean, who doesn’t love the wind in their face and the sheer possibility of adventure? That’s where things took a turn—or rather, a time leap. I, Jackie, the intrepid English bulldog with the charming brown ear and the even more charming brown spot just before my tail, somehow managed to travel through time. I can’t explain the mechanics of it all, mostly because I don’t even know what the word “mechanics” means, but let me tell you how it all went down.

It was a typical sunny day in Spencerville, the kind of day for frolicking in the fields and perhaps a quick detour to The Barkery for a ham-filled treat—oh, how I love ham. Max, my boisterous Golden Retriever buddy, and I had just wrapped up an exciting game of frisbee. Given my somewhat stubborn nature, I refused to admit that I was getting tired. After all, I’m an adventurous spirit.

“Hey, Jackster, you wanna check out Doc Ruff’s new car?” Max asked, his tail wagging like a metronome on speed.

Now, Doc Ruff is our resident mad scientist—a Schnauzer with an unfathomable curiosity and an equally perplexing collection of gadgets. He’d recently been tinkering with an old car he found behind The Barking Boutique. Curiosity piqued, we sauntered over. There it was, a shiny, retro-looking car with all sorts of doohickeys and thingamajigs attached to it.

“Let’s take it for a spin!” barked Max, hopping into the driver’s seat.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I hesitated, naturally skeptical. But you know, the wind, the thrill—my love for car rides got the best of me. I jumped into the backseat, my little docked tail wagging furiously. Max pawed at something that looked like a big, red button, and suddenly, the car—no wait, the time machine—whirred to life.

The next thing I know, there’s this blinding flash, and I feel like I’ve been turned inside out. When the light fades and my vision clears, we’re no longer in the warm embrace of Red Beagle Beach or near the Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert. We’re in the middle of a bustling city—humans everywhere, the kind I’ve seen only in those weird moving pictures that come out of the glowing box in the living room.

“Where are we?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Says here it’s 1965,” Max said, after nudging at a newspaper lying on the ground.

“1965?!” I exclaimed, ears pinned back in dismay, not unlike my reaction to the dreaded vacuum cleaner back home. “We need to get back, Max! How will we find Mom and Dad? How will I get my next ear-cleaning session over with?”

We wandered around, trying to make sense of this strange place. There’s no Doggy Donuts or Fur Tacos, and certainly no familiar faces. The bustling energy of human life around us felt, well, chaotic. No one seemed to notice a white English bulldog and a Golden Retriever, a testament to how wrapped up humans can be in their own world.

“Okay, Max, we need to find a way back to Spencerville,” I said, attempting to harness my playful, yet stubborn, energy into something productive. We nudged and pawed at every possible button, lever, and gadget in that car. After what felt like an eternity—a real test of patience for a bulldog like me—we found something that looked promising: a lever labeled “Home.”

“Okay, here goes nothing,” Max said, pulling the lever with his paw.

In another blinding flash, we were back. The familiar scents of Choco Chihuahua Castle and the tantalizing aroma of ham from The Barkery filled the air. Relief washed over me like a tidal wave. We were home, and not a moment too soon—I had a hankering for a car ride that didn’t involve temporal displacement.

“Let’s keep this between us, Jackie,” Max panted, out of breath but clearly relieved.

“Deal,” I barked back, content with the knowledge that our unexpected adventure was behind us.

Life in Spencerville continued, and I was more than happy to resume my favorite activities—chasing frisbees, cuddling, and yes, even reluctantly enduring ear cleanings. Because there’s no place like home, whether it’s in the past, present, or future.

The End.