This is why Paul can’t have nice things. Snickerdoodle is a baddie.

↓ Transcript
April 1775

On an ordinary spring morning, maybe a little overcast, the silence of a small farm on the outskirts of Boston is broken by a scream coming from a shed, “DROP IT!”

Inside the shed decorated with punk rock posters from The Clash and the Ramones, a now teenage Paul Revere is struggling to pull his magenta Fender Stratocaster from a small, yet overly aggressive white little dog with grey spots named Snickerdoodle. Continuing his shouting, Paul demands, “SNICKERS, LET GO RIGHT NOW!”

Suddenly, the guitar falls to the floor with a loud crash.

Snickerdoodle stands aggressively growling over the now broken guitar. The head of the neck still in her mouth and the rest of the guitar lay on the floor, ruined.

Paul is distraught, “MY BABY! How am I supposed to play tonight?!”

Paul picks up the surprised dog to face him and gently shakes her, “You are a VERY BAD dog! BAD!”

Outside, Paul hears his sister, “Paul! PAUL!” She yells louder, “PAUL!”

Preoccupied with Snickerdoodle, Paul finally hears her, “Jennie?!”