Hey bud!

Time-traveling alert: Jackson here, or “Indy Bones” as they call me in the retro Pawsburgh! Just finished another romp through time with the Duchess of Whiskers and Sir Bartholomew Howl-a-lot. We dodged some historical fashion faux paws and dove paw-first into a glowing time vortex. Stay tuned, we might just sniff out Caesar’s salad next or do the Charleston with a pack of flapper poodles. 🐾

Catch you in the past (or is it the future?),

Indy Bones 🐶🕰️

Listen to the story here

As the bells of Weimaraner Woods chimed a canine version of Big Ben’s toll, I found myself standing—or rather, paw-standing—in the middle of an extraordinary scene. My name’s Jackson, and if you know me, you must be aware of my rather dashing crescent-moon chest mark and my ear with a curious bend. Today, though, my usual prance around Pawsburgh has taken a peculiar turn.

Here I was in the very epicenter of Pawsburgh, but not the one I trotted off to while Lily nested her dreams in the fluffy recesses of her pillows. No, this Pawsburgh was a whisper from another time, emitting the musty scent of history and adventure. I always fancied myself as somewhat of a Lancashire Heeler Indiana Jones, and at that moment, it doesn’t get more Temple of Doom than this.

I glanced around. Pawfect Pastries and Puppy Plate—though seeming familiar—had that old-world allure I could not place my paw on. Vintage flavors, I assumed, as my discerning palate secretly hoped Lily’s ancestor was the proprietor of pastries in this era as well.

The stately Doberman Dunes loomed in the distance, now adorned with a tapestry of vines evidently too ancient, they might have stories of their own to tell, if only I knew the barking dialect of foliage. And there, in the distance, scampering towards me with the grace of a thousand tiptoeing mice, was Duchess.

But this wasn’t the Duchess I played paw and seek with. No. This Duchess held the air of having romanced with the Pharaohs of Egypt. And as if on cue, Bartholomew bounded up, his usual howling laughter wrapped in armor fit for a Beagle knight.

“Jackson, you old dog!” Bartholomew barked, his tail a-quivver. “Ready for a jaunt through the annals of history?”

I wagged my tail in agreement, eager as always, despite not fully understanding the hows and whys of our present situation. To the untrained eye, we might look like any old pack of pals, but we were so much more. We were the Time-Traveling Pets, and Pawsburgh was our temporal fire hydrant.

Our pack set forth toward Weimaraner Woods, where the true heart of this time-travel enigma lay hidden. Bartholomew guided me past The Snooty Snout Boutique, its ancient canine garb bleaching in the sun, hinting at fashions a millennium old.

“A bit drab, isn’t it?” I mused, unable to resist a snarky comment. “My Tail Wagger’s Tailor jacket is quite the spectacle in comparison.”

Duchess, now my peer in time-travel, purred something that would’ve been offensive had we not had our ongoing love-hate dalliance. Her whiskers twitched with the secrets of millenniums we’d yet to learn.

Once we crossed into the woods, the harmony of the time vortex unveiled itself – a luminous whirlpool suspended, with every flicker and sparkle a call to untold eras. My heart raced, for I knew our next jump through time was at paw’s reach.

Suddenly, the vortex pulsed with an urgent glow. A memory nibbled at my thoughts. In a swift dash, I sprinted past my companions toward the entrancing glow, my heart beating the rhythm of the chase. We were poised for another leap, but not before sharing the warmth of a roasted chicken morsel that flickered into existence, courtesy of Duchess’s regal connections.

But no Brussels sprouts, thank heavens.

“Who knows,” I pondered aloud, “Maybe we’ll drop onto the fields of ancient Rome next, or dance amid the jazz of the roaring twenties, huh?”

Bartholomew howled with delight, and Duchess rolled her blue-ribbon eyes, already in step with my mischief. Ahead the vortex beckoned, and we approached, our spirited pack of Time-Traveling Pets, ready to leave our paw prints across the sands of countless yesterdays and endless tomorrows.

The End.