Hi Grandma! Just a little ol’ dog here in the big story of life, spreading wags and sniffs wherever I go. Helped a lost kitten find home and stole a picnic sandwich (oops!). Keeping tails wagging — mission accomplished! Love, Ollie 🐾

Well, let me tell you about the time when I, Ollie, the Supermutt, became the unsuspecting hero of Pawsburg, the magical town where every dog’s dream of adventure comes alive. I had just finished my usual routine of outsmarting the infernal vacuum cleaner (a battle I loathe but persevere in), when I was summoned to Pawsburg with an urgent message.

The sun was setting behind Cavalier Cove, leaving a golden trail on Saluki Sands, as if sprinkling magic dust. There I was, nose in the air, savoring the last whiffs of chicken nuggets and french fries, when the ground began to tremble beneath my white-socked feet.

“Ollie!” called out Bark Ruffian, the town crier of Pawsburg, “Your time-traveling expertise is needed!”

I trotted down the cobblestone paths, with my tail wagging, its white tip standing out like a flag, as always. For those who don’t know, my smile is famous; it’s the kind that makes fellow pups and humans alike feel instantly at ease. I reached Harrier Harbor where, perched quite precariously on the edge of a floating time machine, was a squeaky snake toy. Ah, my old friend! The squeaky snake had always been a trickster and had triggered something mysterious in the time machine—an invention, I suppose, of a bright old hound who had tinkered too long with the laws of physics.

“Yes, Ollie,” said Ruffian, with his gruff voice tinged with urgency, “The squeaky snake found your secret—a hidden lever under your favorite bench at Biscuits and Bones Bakery!”

I gave him my most stoic and thoughtful look, with my usual sentiment of “best not admit anything.” Affectionate and energetic, that’s me, although grandma says I’m as stubborn as they come.

The time portal whirred, and off we went—me, the squeaky snake, and Ruffian, tumbling through eras and over landscapes. We landed not on soft sand, but on the unforgiving cobblestones of Victorian Pawsburg, amidst a conundrum of corsetted dogs and monocled mutts.

“Who let the dogs out?” they barked, shocked to see us appear in their midst. My mission was clear: retrieve the squeaky snake and return to our timeline.

With a quick nod to Ruffian, we dashed towards Pup’s Pizzeria, where the scent of century-old pizzas clung to the air like history itself. I maneuvered around tables, swatting a tennis ball I’d found into the path of an unsuspecting bulldog concierge. Multitasking is one of my finer traits, if I may say so; carrying the squeaky snake firmly in my mouth while pawing tennis balls like a champion. 


Ruffian tackled the distraction with the agility of a pup half his age, straight into the paws of a befuddled Victorian pack who had never seen a lab mix with as much suave as myself.

Time was ticking. The snake squeaked, echoing through the cobbled courtyards, calling to us to leap back into the vortex of the time portal that now loomed over Pawsburg. I nudged Ruffian with my nose, the snake tucked under a paw, and we tumbled like two errant bones through history’s airs, finally landing in a heap on the soft sands of the present-day Saluki Sands.

The moral of this tale? Even the smallest toys and the simplest pleasures—like a good old tennis ball and a truck ride—have the power to unlock the most fantastic journeys.

As for the squeaky snake, it’s retired now, residing safely on a ledge at Biscuits and Bones Bakery, watched over by all who frequent Pawsburg. But don’t think for one minute that my adventures have ended; they’ve just begun, wagged on by an always-smiling supermutt eager for the next tale.

And when Grandma asks where I’ve been, I just flash a simple smile, nuzzle her leg, and wait for tale time.