Hey Mom, it’s Wriggles, your very own time-traveling furball! Strolled blessing shores of Red Beagle Beach, savored delicacies at Paws-A-Latte, joined the wild 20s at Pug Palace, and rescued dear old duck from some Charleston dancers. Mixing eras, making mischief and waiting for you. Will trade it all for a scratch behind the ears, though. Miss you and wagging up storms here in Spencerville!

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So there I was, buckled up in the backseat of a seasoned Chevrolet, my paws gripping onto my faithful old yellow duck, my wagging tail sweeping across the worn out upholstery. My heart pounded with excitement as the car hummed to life, the old engine’s comforting purrs radiating through me. Soon we’d be off, out of my peaceful town, Spencerville, an abode for all us companions who’ve crossed the Rainbow Bridge, awaiting the sweet day of reunion with our humans. Yet, don’t yank the leash, I loved being embraced by the time-traveling escapades around town, journeying through different eras and spots, like a regular K-9 Doctor Who.

Take Red Beagle Beach for an instance. There, I’d left my paw prints in sands from time immemorial; ’twas as if the 80s Madonna was crooning ‘Like a Virgin’ one moment and war cries from the American Civil War were echoing the next. My fellow time-travelers and I, comrades in arms, often dashed off to South Poodle Pond after that. A hop, skip, and a jump and we’d be slurping sweet nectar from prehistoric flowers or unwinding silently by a serene Victorian era picnic.

My palate, though, had the most excitement. Paws-A-Latte; a favored haunt, served everything from the ripest cheese of the Roman era to honey fresh from the apiaries of Alexander the Great. It was every dog’s dream, and nightmares too – I remember Smokey’s face when he got served a dinosaur egg omelette!

The time travel shenanigans also partook within the familiar walls of Pug Palace; every day was an age-old festival. It would be a barkday celebration with my dogmates one day, and the next, we would climb aboard the Spice Trade’s camel caravans. It was bewilderingly absurd and strangely lovely.

I remember one particular adventure when we ended up in the roaring 20s. Neck-deep in fringed flapper dresses, I lost my beloved duck amidst a flurry of quick-stepping Charleston dancers. Maddie, a corgi of much sass, took it upon herself to lead us through the smoke-filled speakeasy, rescuing the unfortunate bird from the raucous party. Surprisingly enough, those same mismatched toenails that danced excitedly on Spencerville’s streets were remarkably quite at home on the jazz-filled dance floors of the 20s. To top it off, I got to taste my first root beer float that day at Pupsicle Palace.

Thus my days went. One moment bathed in the warmth of a 50’s sitcom, and the next grappling with the squeaker amidst soaring dinosaurs or diving Atlantis. It was a peculiar life, in Spencerville, the timeless town of dogs… but a good one. I’ll take this over a bath with loud blow-dryers any day! You see, while I wait for my human, I’m not just passing time. It’s an adventure…a journey that’d make even Doctor Who wag his tail!

The End.

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