Hey Ma,

You won’t believe it—I’m the top dog in the universe now, steering the H.M.S. Hound through the stars! Sniffing out adventure around every asteroid, dodging space cats, and playing fetch with actual meteorites. It’s wilder than a backyard romp, but don’t worry, I’m still the same old Max, just with a bit more stardust on my paws. Miss you and Spencerville a ton!

Woofs and wags,
Your Biggin, Maximus 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

In the cosmic corners of the great beyond, where stars twinkle like the mischievous glint in a pup’s eye, there I sauntered—a behemoth Bullmastiff by the name of Maximus, commander of the starship H.M.S. Hound. Now, y’all might recollect a tale or two ’bout the comings and goings of a dog of my stature back on that green paradise known as Spencerville. Lo and behold, here I am a-coasting through the velvet depths of space, a regular doggone celestial voyager.

Civilized folks found ourselves mighty amused pondering on the nature of a dog’s eternity, and I reckon, why settle for one world when you’ve got the boundless universe to roam? So it came to roost that I found myself captain of a vessel outfitted for the furriest of crews, with Lil Dot handling the engines and Roscoe Lonestar manning the lookout with an admiralty befitting a sea-faring gent on Terra Firma.

They say in space no one can hear you bark, but by Jove, we made it a place of song and frolic, bounding over the Milky Way as if it were but a puddle to splash through on a Sunday promenade. We’d navigate them celestial currents, weaving a course through the stars like a bumblebee skirts through the meadow’s wildflowers.

Now, days in the ether are much like those back at Spencerville: we’d feast at the Dog-gone Good BBQ on Orion’s Belt, play fetch with meteorites (mind you, they pack a mightier wallop than yer common tennis ball), and put our paws up at the Cream Maltese Meadow Nebula, watchin’ as the cosmos spun yarns older than the hills.

Course, not all was treats and belly rubs. Space ain’t no respecter of size, even for one as mighty as I. We’d run our share of rabble with scallywag space cats—persnickety lot, always hacking up hairballs ’bout territory. And let me tell thee, if there’s a bane in my otherwise charmed existence, it’d be them cosmic furballs challengin’ my patience. But we navigated with grace, evadin’ conflicts like a squirrel ducks ‘n’ weaves through autumn leaves.

A spaceman—or space-canine, if you’ll pardon my drift—keeps the cards close to his chest, secrets and all. But I’ll let slip that when the energy gets to waggin’, there’s a certain immense spherical plaything what sets the coordinates of my heart ablaze with the chase.

I reckon you’ve peered deep at my very soul, felt the vibrations of my thoughts as they skitter off, like pup on the first scent of freedom, tails waggin’ in unison with the rhythms of the universe. Why, it’s a dance, I tell ya—a grand ol’ jig across time and space itself, and here we spin, my pack and I, awaiting the day when we’re called back to the embrace of love’s immortal shore.

Remember these here ramblings, much as the wind remembers the howl of a lonesome hound. Carry my tale through the cosmic seas, and know that Maximus, though light-years from Spencerville’s soft ground, is ever the devoted hound, steadfast ’til the day I’m called back to reunite with those I love.

The End.

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