Hey Ma,

Just cruisin’ the cosmic dog park, munching on space calzones, and dodging meteorites like squirrels! You know, the usual ‘A-Dog saves Pawsburgh’ story, but with more zero-g naps and starry shenanigans. I’ve got the universe wagging its tail, and I’m still your pup, cosmic sloth in tow.

Catch ya on the earthly flip side,
Boo boo 🚀🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Right. I’ll tell you about the time I ventured to Pawsburgh Space, or as you might call it, the Cosmic Canopy. Each nebula, a fire hydrant of stardust; every star, a lamppost in the great dog park of the cosmos. As I, A-Dog, blasted through the void in my canine cruiser, my trusty stuffed sloth clutched in my maw by forces of habit rather than gravity, the universe was my backyard.

Now, navigation’s a breeze for a chap like meself, partly because of me exceptional celestial snout, but also because I fancy myself a free spirit. Ye ever try charting a course through the Milky Way with a mouthful of sloth? It’s not exactly a walk in the park, I’ll tell ya.

Out here, one minute you’re cruising past Terrier Town, a quaint little asteroid cluster where the locals yap about with more energy than sense—no offense intended—and the next, you’re avoiding meteor showers near Affenpinscher Avenue. I’ve always found the name rather cheeky. Affenpinschers, avenue, asteroids… There’s some human humor in there, for sure.

Anyhow, it was during such a jaunt that I came upon a sight more delightful than a full bowl of crunchy carrots: an interstellar foodie festival right there on Amber Akita Alley. Now, I’m a bulldog with a discerning palate, so the aromas of Hound’s Hotdogs and Paw-lickin’ Pancakes swirling around me were tempting, but one does not simply pass up the delicacy that is Pawprint Pizzeria in space. So there I was, floating elegantly as a swan in zero-g, though in me heart, I’m more sloth than swan, if truth be told.

“Oi, A-Dog!” boomed a familiar bark. “Fancy seeing you in this part of the universe. Come for the cosmic calzone?”

A nod was me only reply as I approached the Canine Cafe with the dignified grace of a dog possessed by the spirit of an untamed universe. The intergalactic barista, a Lab with eyebrows nebulous as the Andromeda, served me up a slice of heaven. And oh, the taste buds sing!

As one for lounging in sunlit dog parks rather than sunbathing on the scorching surface of stars, I must confess, finding shade in the great black expanse is a mite challenging. Fortunately, The Wagging Tail Bookstore was hosting a reading of “The Great Dogbowski” inside a cozy little asteroid sublet. A fellow could lose himself in those pages.

But space has its moments, just as Pawsburgh does. It is but a distant extension of our earthly tales, a reminder of meself and me mates scuttling about, whispering secrets of our otherworldly escapes upon return to our slumbering humans.

And such was the flow of the day, frolicking through the edges of dogdom’s final frontier, snatching snippets of joy like treats tossed mid-air. I may have the gait of a sloth, but when adventure calls, me paws know the dance of the stars.

It was not all romping through space, though. An unexpected space storm had me tail tucked and dodging meteorites—one quirk of being a space-faring bulldog is you don’t fancy the howl of the cosmic winds. I navigated that squall with the finesse of a pup avoiding bath time on a rainy day.

Back on Earth, as I laid in the quiet embrace of home, the stuffed sloth back in its rightful place between canine canines, this tail-wagger mused aloud to me snoozing human, “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

And for a Bulldog who’s seen the great Pawsburgh above, this was a mere whisper in the grand opera of the galaxies, another woof in the symphony of the stars.

The End.

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