Hey Mom,

You won’t believe the whirlwind of a story I’m living—it’s like a dog’s version of ‘Doctor Who’ with a wagging tail! 🐶✨ I’ve time-traveled from ancient Egypt to Victorian London, even stopped by ’69’s Summer of Love, all with Barron by my side. Pawsburgh’s never seen such tail-wagging heroics! Can’t wait to share more tail tales over kibble.

Scratches and sniffs,
Charm 🐾

Listen to the story here

We had barely pranced past the hour of twilight dreaming in Pawsburgh, the mystical realm where we dogs shake free the shackles of our pedestrian lives. It’s me, Charm, the robust-hearted adventurer with fur kissed by the sun and shadows alike, ready to hurl myself into a narrative spun with the reckless abandon of a Jolly ball in a summer breeze.

There’s an unspoken rule about the dog world; you sniff out your own kind, the ones with the mettle to leap through time itself. Daddy had whispered tales of such escapades between the idle strumming of my ears, and Barron, spirited pugilist of the canine continuum, egged me on with barks steeped in the lore of the ancients.

We stood before the shimmering portal outside The Groom Room, tails waving like metronomes counting down to our next lunatic escapade. This wasn’t your standard gate; it stank of old bones and new beginnings. It promised the fresh scents of eons past, and we, paupers turned lords of time, were ready to take our claim. Barron gave me the nod, and we leaped; not of this world anymore, we were time’s mutts now.

An Egyptian breeze greeted us, and the land of the Pharaohs spread its golden sands like a lavish rug before us—a grand buffet for time-traveling taste buds. We loped past the Sphinx, that stone sentinel wearing eons of aloofness, and play-bowed before its puzzling grandeur. No cryptic riddle from its lips today; only the ancient wind whispering secrets in the timeless dialect of freedom.

Returning from the past’s embrace, Pawsburgh unfurled itself like the welcome stench of Beagle Bagels on a Sunday morning. Through the looking glass, Barron and I sauntered to the haunts of our contemporaries—Jade Jack Russell Junction and Pomeranian Park, where every bark echoed with stories itching to leap out of time.

Now, whisked away by the insatiable itch of curiosity, we veered off-course. The portal sputtered and coughed us onto the cobblestones of Victorian London, gaslight and shadows knitting together a tapestry of intrigue. Our paws clicked a staccato rhythm, harmonizing with horse-drawn carriages and the muted grumbles of the less fortunate mongrels slinking in the mist.

But the tides of time are fickle, and just as quickly, we found ourselves back in Pawsburgh, gulping the future at Whippet Wraps. I drowned my confusion in a concoction that tasted like the essence of post-modernistic disillusionment distilled into a wrap. Barron, ever the shadow and ever the squire, clutched vigor anew, for the thrill of the past was upon us once more.

Our next jump was swift. At Pawsburgh’s crossroads, passing through eons like sifting sand through eager paws, we landed among roaring crowds—1969, the Summer of Love. The air was thick with hope and other intoxications not fit for a dog’s nose but the vibe, oh the vibe, was pure unadulterated freedom.

We took a beat for Barron to sniff out a fetching beaded collar at Spa for Paws, then whirled once more in the time-cyclone’s belly. We arrived home just before dawn’s blush graced the sky, and Pawsburgh’s magic began to tuck itself away for the day.

As I lay there, head on paws at Daddy’s feet, panting from the night’s rendezvous with history, I fancied I could still taste every epoch’s flavor on my tongue. Barron snored softly beside me, and I thought, what exquisite madness the night had been—a tapestry woven from the cosmic loom that only those with four legs and a penchant for the preposterous could ever hope to unravel.

And the best part? You, dear human, will only ever know the half of it, as our canine smiles stretched wistfully while we dream, curled up in our stories, gloriously untold.

The End.

Share This Story: