Hey Jamie,

Guess what? I officially became a time-traveling dog today with Fifi and Buster. No big deal, just a casual whirlwind adventure through the barks of history, from Elizabethan merchants to ancient Egyptian cats! I’ve snacked my way through the centuries but trust me, the best treat is coming home. Can’t wait to share all the tail-wagging tales at bedtime. Scooter 🐾✨

It was a Thursday – they’re always Thursdays, I don’t know why – when I, Scooter, noticed the hum. Not your garden-variety can’t-put-your-paw-on-it hum, oh no. It was the sort of hum that felt like the preamble to a grand escapade. So pulled by the snout of curiosity, I trotted down Schnauzer Street as the sun tipped its hat goodbye.

I was off to meet my ragtag band at our staple hideaway – The Pup’s Parfait. A pudding paradise for the discerning canine, and Fifi, Buster, and I considered ourselves quite the critics. In between licks of a bone-broth gelato, Fifi’s pearls clinked just like the ice on a glass of barley water.

“Scooter, darling,” she drawled, “you simply must tell me about your most recent caper!”

I was just warming up to regale them with today’s pursuit of a criminally elusive leaf when a peculiar tingling took hold of my scruffy coat. My tail betrayed my inner tempo, hitting a rhythm even I couldn’t follow.

The tingling turned to a pull – distinct, insistent, like a leash tugged by the hands of time itself. And before I could say ‘fetch’, my companions and I were swept up in a whirlwind that smelled faintly of old books and adventure.

The next we knew, the whirlwind spit us out onto Amber Akita Alley, but it was not our Amber Akita Alley. It was… differently the same. The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium stood proudly, except it bore the name The Fetching Feline Potion Purveyor. A canine adorned in a ruff – how very Elizabethan – approached us with a mystified gaze.

“What manner of dogs be thee?” he boomed, his voice carrying the confidence of someone who had never been told to ‘sit’.

I opened my mouth to reply but found no words came – how to explain?

Fifi, ever the diva, strutted forward with a sniff. “We, good sir, are travelers from… a different time.”

Now, Buster, stout-hearted to a fault, seemed unfazed. He eyed a passing cart selling bread. “Look, Scooter! They’ve got those chicken treats ye love!”

Except, the treats looked curiously rough around the edges, and not a lemon in sight. Our Elizabethan friend, whose name we found to be Rufus, guided us through a marketplace teeming with barks and yaps from all corners of history.

Just when the idea of living in an era of chicken treats began to settle nicely, we heard it again; the hum, like a whisper nudging us towards our next ‘walk’.

This time we landed with a thud, sand underpaw and pyramids casting long shadows as the sun began its descent upon ancient Egypt. Cats – yes, cats – ruled here, and we found ourselves amid a certain feline festivity.

“I must say, I do NOT like this one bit,” Fifi huffed, her pearls hidden under a coat of dust.

“Could be worse,” mused Buster, chasing beetles with a short-legged zeal.

But nostalgic for the chirp of Jamie’s laughter and the comfort of my sunny little corner, I yearned for home.

The hum, as if in agreement, began its melody once more. Our time-traveling escapade drew to a close, as Pawsburgh, our Pawsburgh, flickered back into view.

We were back on Newfoundland Nook, and just in time for dinner. I bolted to Canine Kabobs and ordered an extra-large portion for the unlikely trio.

With every bite, tales of time and the unwavering bond of friends, both furry and human, intermingled. Jamie would hear quite the bedtime story tonight, punctuated by the contented sighs of the well-travelled and well-fed.

For in Pawsburgh, adventure always beckons. Sometimes it’s nothing grander than the flick of a tail or the wag of a good tale. But always, always, it’s waiting just around the bark.

The End.