Hey there,

Just a usual day at the Chow Hound for your favorite canine time-traveling sheriff, Auggie. Battled wits with Molly over my squeaky chicken, then decided to take a leap back in time to retrieve its ancestor from my youth. Storyteller’s paws never rest! Woof woof,

– Auggie ‘Timekeeper’

Listen to the story here

As I swing open the heavy door of the Chow Hound café in the heart of Pawsburg, whispered conversations, and an aroma redolent of day-old bones, kibble, and of course, my favorite, peanut butter-filled Kongs, fills the air. I bustle through the eateries patrons — assorted mongrels, purebreds, and their motley crew of masters.

“Good day, Auggie,” barks Leo, the lively Labrador who claims the seat opposite mine, his tail thumping with particular enthusiasm today.

I wag my tail back in greeting, focusing on the gigantic Kong the server has brought me. Oh, the taste was as brilliant as time – every delicious morsel was a journey back to my puppyhood. I devour; peanut butter was my Jam, my Abbey Lane.

Suddenly, I still. Across the restaurant, Molly, the Corgi from Collie Canyon, was giggling over a platter of doggy donuts. Not unusual, but what caught my eye was the sight of that infernal squeaky chicken, squawking mockingly under her paw. A rush of adrenaline surged through my body, propelling me towards her.

With precise calculation, I inched past Poodle Pamela debating about Renaissance Art at The Furry Friends Art Gallery, bypassed Great Dane Gary who seemed entirely invested in a quest for a squeaky hippo at Pet Partners Pet Supplies, till I stood face to face with Molly.

“Excuse me,” I yip, maintaining eye contact. “But, I believe that squeaky chicken is not your chew toy but mine.”

Molly just laughed, her sharp teeth glinting in the semi-darkness. “Auggie, get yourself a new chicken. This chicken is mine now.”

But, then it hit me. Or more precisely, time hit me. A sudden realization, the moment bloomed like a flower in a fast-forward video. My position as the sheriff of this town alone granted me the power of time-travel, enabled me an opportunity to right the wrongs of Pawsburg. I decided then and there, Molly could keep that squeaky chicken as a plaything; I’d go wrest mine from the dusty corners of the past—learn history for myself beyond the confines of Daisy’s tales.

My mind whirred, whisking me to a world that colored itself vivid with memories. Earth, the strangely familiar terrain of my youth. It unfurled before me, as real as the peanut butter currently working its magic on my tongue. A globe spun in my head, the speedometer of my imagination zipping past milestones of my own story. I needed then, the squeaky chicken from my past.

I imagined the vast expanse of Retriever River, the dry path of the Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert, the fresh smell of my home and the distinctive sound of that squeaky chicken under my paws. With the twinkling of an eye, I was transported at the doorstep of history, about to unfold the pages of my past. To retrieve my squeaky chicken, I had everything but time on my hands.

The End.