Hey Marley,

Guess who sniffed out an adventure and ended up fetching a tale right back on the Briard Bridge? 🐾 S.S. WagTail crew, led by yours truly, Zuna, sailed the stars only to find that home’s the best kept secret in the universe. Phantoms and chicken a la Bark, Pawsburgh style! 🚀🐶

Tails up,
Zuna

Listen to the story here

Stardate: Who truly keeps track in Pawsburgh? Let’s just say it was a day that wagged with promise. There I stood, Zuna, at the helm of the S.S. WagTail, with my tail held high between the boundless stars, orbiting the far-flung Fido-9 galaxy. The crew’s paws padded softly across the starship’s deck, each step a leap for dogkind.

It was a peculiar assignment, the kind that causes a stir around the water bowls. A mysterious beacon had been detected, emanating from an uncharted asteroid near the Collie Cluster. So off we set, with the speed of a greyhound and the finesse of a terrier digging for treasure.

I glanced over at my comrade, Baxter, our chief engineering Beagle, who lay with his jowls resting on paws, deep in thought. “I reckon it’s old,” he mumbled, eyeing the blinking console with the wisdom of many moons.

“Affirmative,” I woofed back. “But a scent’s worth tracking if it leads to adventure, wouldn’t you say, old chap?”

Sprinkles, our conn officer, yipped in agreement. With ears perked and eyes wide, she deftly danced her Spaniel paws over the dashboard. “Approaching destination, Zuna!” The ship hummed its assent.

As the asteroid neared, we were hit by a tractor beam – the kind that doesn’t just tug at your harness but also yanks fiercely at dogged curiosity. We were being pulled into Newfoundland Nook! The decision was unanimous; we would venture forth into this cosmic bay.

“We come in paws!” I announced with a wag as we touched down, only to be greeted by the smell of…the Wagging Whisk? The entranced crew scampered off, lured by the scent of space-seasoned chicken à la Bark Buffet, which inexplicably wafted through the chasm of space.

Imagine our astonishment upon disembarking to find ourselves not on some barren rock, but upon a sprawling bridge, woven throughout with vines of ivy. Briard Bridge it was, in the heart of Pawsburgh!

“Woof,” I exclaimed. “We’ve been led home by our noses. Someone’s playing a game of fetch with our senses.”

The culprit? Oh, you probably guessed it. As mischievous as a puppy with a slipper and twice as cunning. From the shadows of Setter Shore sauntered a creature with the hull of a starship and the whimsy of a dream – the Phantom Pupper of Pawsburgh.

“Zuna, old girl,” it spoke with an ethereal chortle, “your loyal crew and their trust in the stars have led you back to the shores of wonder and the tales of the always-present now.”

Baxter sniffed, “You gave us quite the chase, phantom, but the bait of Pawsburgh’s finest delicacies? Unparalleled.”

“And unfair!” yapped Sprinkles, with laughter twinkling in her eyes.

“Nevertheless,” the spectral canine replied, “within the heart of every adventure lies the whisper of home, and for this journey – t’was your guiding star.”

As the illusion faded and the asteroid regained its rocky façade, we squinted at the distant Bark Buffet; it seemed no more than a coin toss away, through the vastness of Pawsburgh.

And so, armed with memories more delicious than Sunday’s chicken, we returned to our starship, hearts full and tails undocked. The universe was vast, but no galaxy could outshine the light that sparkles within the mischief in our eyes.

“Away we go,” I declared, amid chuckles and woofs. With a jest in my bark and a twinkle in my mischief-filled eyes, the S.S. WagTail jumped to warp, chasing stars and sniffing out new frontiers.

Just another day, another datapoint in Pawsburgh’s cosmic log, boldly going where no dog had gone before, and always, but always, returning home with a jingle in our step and a yarn for the eager ears of Marley.

The End.