Hey Dad, just wanted to let you know I’m the hero of our tale! Helped the neighbors find their lost cat and even got a special belly rub in return. All in a day’s work! 🐾 – Bubs

Well now, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I reckon I’m gonna tell it anyhow. It all started on an ordinary day in Spencerville, the nearly perfect place that feels more like a dream than anything I’ve ever known. My name’s Bentley, better known as Bubba or Bubs, and I’m an English Bulldog by birth and a time traveler by accident, or spectacular luck, depending on how you look at it.

Now, Spencerville isn’t your usual run-of-the-mill town. It’s a place where us pets—from all corners of the Great Beyond—roam freely, enjoying a life so cushy and carefree, it makes a belly rub on a Sunday afternoon feel like hard labor. Western Labradoodle Lake sparkles with sunlight dancing on its surface, Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow is always thick with butterflies, and North Chihuahua Castle still looks as grand as ever.

On this particular day, I was out at Fetching Feline Pet Emporium in search of a new Jolly Ball. Week ends and weeks begin with rough-housing sessions, some good ol’ tug-of-war, and a grand side of affection from my friends. Life’s a mighty fine ride when your favorite place is stocked to the brim with toys. But I was feeling sorta outta sorts, missing my dad something fierce, when a peculiar contraption caught my eye out by the Snooty Snout Boutique.

It was parked there, as if waitin’ just for me—a car, all spruced up and fancy-like, with strange wires and gadgets sticking out every which way. Curiosity ain’t just for cats, you know. I padded over, my white paws leaving little prints on the shiny surface. Sniffin’ around, I found the door popped open easy enough. Well now, what’s a pooch to do but climb on in for a better look?

Next thing I knew, my hefty paw lands smack-dab on a button, and whoosh! The car lights up brighter than a firefly in a mason jar on a summer night. The contraption jolted, spun, and shimmered like the Fourth of July. Before I could bark “Pizza!” the world around me warped and twisted like the stripes on a barber’s pole.

When the whirly-gigging finally stopped, I wasn’t in Spencerville no more. No sir, I was nose-to-sniffer with my pal Fat Russell, except he looked a mite more sprightly—only a year or two old and not yet “Fat” Russell. Everything seemed plumb out of whack until it hit me like a chew toy to the noggin—I had done gone back in time!

I hunkered down and tried to wrap my noggin around the how and why, but that’s a whole nut harder than figuring out why veggies ain’t fit for a Bulldog’s palate. Fat Russell and I mustered our wits and set out, becoming quick companions once more. We found that even in the “past,” fetchin’ sticks provided the sort of comfort that makes you wag your tail till your sides ache.

We stumbled upon places I ain’t never seen and yet oddly familiar—the beach, all bright with the dawning sun, and dog parks not yet built up with fancy swings and shiny new things. It was a simpler time, raw and beautiful. The scent of hamburgers lured me more than once, and I had to tough it out knowing there wasn’t no dad to share it with me.

Turned out that same curiosity that got me into this mess was my ticket out. Back at Western Labradoodle Lake, I spied the strange car again. This time, Fat Russell and I hopped in together. I was ready for more button-pressing calamities, but I reckon the car wanted to get me back just as much as I did. I shoved that same paw down, and with less hullabaloo but just as much flash, I was right back in Spencerville.

Fat Russell was waiting, wagging his scrappy tail, and looking none the worse for wear. We didn’t need no words to know we’d glimpsed somethin’ special, somethin’ more than just a romp through meadows. It was a reminder that as time jiggles and jaunts, bonds hold us steady, and every wag is a stitch in the grand tapestry of Spencerville.

So now, even when I am tugging at my Jolly Ball or sharing a slice of heaven in the form of a hamburger, I know the legend of Spencerville is spinning stories just like it spun time that day. And who knows, maybe one day, my dad will hear ‘bout my adventure and know that wherever I am—be it past, present, or future—I’m waitin’ and waggling for our reunion.