Hey Mom! Just wanted to let you know I helped my human family find a missing kid in the park today, thanks to my super sniffing skills. It was quite the adventure! Love, your Violent Violet. 🐾

It’s quite astonishing, really, the sort of notable adventures one finds oneself in when one’s human isn’t paying attention—adventures that would make Mr. Jerome K. Jerome himself clutch his sides with delight. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Violet, an English Bulldog of tri-color distinction, known affectionately as “Violent Violet” for reasons that may soon become apparent.

The other night, as my dear mom drifted off into a state of peaceful snoring, and with my cousin Oakley looking decidedly muppet-ish in his enthusiastic nod off, I made my way to Pawsburg, an enchanted dog-only utopia. Pawsburg, as you may not know, is where we canine adventurers meet, play, and—most crucially—vie for supremacy in the art of storytelling.

My tale takes an audacious twist from the norm, for it involves not only the typical frolics and fancies but a dash of time-travel to boot. One might say it’s like a doggy version of ‘Doctor Who,’ complete with temporal mischief, a fair share of calamity, and enough character quirks to fill a dog bed the size of Texas.

It was a misty evening at Shiba Inlet when Oakley, Willow, Annabelle, Lily, and I stumbled upon an ancient artifact hidden in the rocky shore. It was a curious device, somewhat resembling an oversized ball on a rope (my absolute favorite toy, mind you), yet it had peculiar markings and a small inscription: “Turn the dial and see the ages spiral.”

“By Jove!” I barked, nudging the device with my nose. Curiosity may have put the cat in the kettle, but a dog’s curiosity, well, that leads to epics of the extraordinary kind.

The moment I turned the dial, the world around us began to shimmer and spin, and with a whoosh, we found ourselves transported to Victorian England. The streets were lined with cobblestone, and the air was thick with the scent of baked bread—a scent that wafted from the Feline Fine Bakery, a humble establishment frequented by only the most discerning of doggy time travelers.

“Well, this is a cat’s whiskers!” Oakley exclaimed, his shaggy appearance now hilariously juxtaposed against the genteel background.

“We must investigate!” I declared, my brave demeanor echoing my inner valor. “Let us explore these historical wonders!”

Our band of time-straddling hounds—each with their distinct personalities shining through—made our way to the Bulldog’s BBQ, a mouthwatering venue even in this bygone era. Annabelle, ever the aristocrat, insisted on perfect manners, while Lily glared suspiciously at the vacuum in the corner, as if it might spark to life at any moment.

Yet it was at The Pet’s Palette where the true magic unfolded. Among the paints and canvases, we discovered that the Victorians held a particular fascination for dogs of our ilk. I felt an immense surge of pride as I stood beside a remarkable painting of an English Bulldog, albeit one who appeared much less invested in activities like tug-of-war and car chases.

In an unexpected twist, our temporal shenanigans caught the attention of the local constabulary, who mistook us for royal mascots. Suffice it to say, this necessitated a rapid retreat. In the ensuing chase, I—a beacon of energy and stubbornness—led my friends back to the manifested device, spinning the dial just in time to transport us back to dear old Pawsburg.

We landed, somewhat ungracefully, in front of Barking Brunch, bursting into laughter—the kind that leaps from the belly and leaves one gasping for breath. Every friend, soaked in adventure and history, returned to their own tales and chew toys, promising to remember our escapade.

And me? Well, I trotted back to my human mom, flopping dramatically on the floor, demanding the attention of a hero who has lived (quite literally) through the ages. She, blissfully unaware of my temporal exploits, simply patted my head and declared, “What an imagination you have, Violet!”

Ah, if only she knew.