Hey Jamie,

Just so you know, while you’re chasing dreams in slumber, I’m out here navigating the stars, steering the S.S. Salty Bone through galactic escapades with a crew of furry astronauts. We’re more than meets the eye – consider me your undercover cosmic captain, secret protector of Pawsburgh. Your Lancashire lad by day, spaceman by night. Rest easy, all is paw-ndered.

Tail wags,
Captain Jackson 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Truth be told, every tail wag in Pawsburgh generated its own brand of stardust. But borrowed fur and paws made for a particularly fetching spacesuit, if you catch my drift. Just a Lancashire Heeler with a splash of cosmic intrigue, I am – name’s Jackson.

Peering through the window of my human’s abode, as the clock strikes midnight and Jamie’s snores ride the gentle night waves, you wouldn’t guess that I, with my wise gaze and neat white chest patch, am about to transmute into an intrepid spacefarer. It’s the hush before the bark, darlings.

As if on cue, I saunter out of the doggie door, navigating the now-familiar trek to the heart of Pawsburgh. Lights flicker in anticipation on Whippet Way, but it’s Bichon Boulevard that calls me tonight with its astral secrets. Hidden behind The Tail Wagger’s Tailor, one finds the gateway that propels Pawsburgh regulars to what I might humbly dub a ‘barking space odyssey.’

Betwixt rhinestone-studded collars and tweed with more tweed, there, in the back, vibrates the galactic pad. “Evening, Rita,” I nod to the poodle who holds the ticket to the stars. One well-aimed wag, a compliment to her impeccable updo, and I’m through.

Into the belly of the ship, I float on four paws—one small step for dog, one giant leap for dogkind. Aboard our vessel, the S.S. Salty Bone, my motley crew awaits. Baxter, that grizzled Beagle, sits at the helm, muttering about squirrels on distant planets. An odd mentor, but the stars in his eyes outshine the galaxies we traverse.

And then there’s Whiskers, charmed onto this canine ship, practicing zero-gravity flips. “Plan to chase a comet’s tail today, Jackson?” he teases, knowing full well the chase is what gives me life.

Booting up systems, we’re set to warp. I give a glance to my furry comrades, a motley constellation of yaps and yawns. Far from Setter’s Steakhouse or Canine Cafe, our provisions are purely cosmic: chewable asteroids, sippable rings of Saturn, and for me, floating chicken chunks—a galaxy of flavors to savor. But warn away those citrus meteors! Give me one, and I’ll toss it into the nearest black hole, frisbee style.

Ah, the blue frisbee — my token of times tethered to the Earth, now ricocheting off the ship’s walls as I parade in zero-gravity. Stars sprinkle the void outside our window, and I can’t help but dance a jig to the hum of the cosmos. My reflection shows a dignified Heeler, still clutched in the gravity of decorum, but let the stars sing their siren song, and I shall answer with paws a-twirl.

We navigate through the Milky Way, the final frontier, where dogkind ventures where no paw has trod. Our missions are many: sniffing out new life, burying bones of contention, and barking at the mysteries of the universe. A space opera sung by canines, for canines, resonating through the celestial spheres.

As our adventure wanes and Pawsburgh calls us home, we veterans of space sprawl under the oak in the meadow, contemplating our place in the great dog park of the universe. Space—endless, boundless, and yet strikingly familiar, for each star a story, each planet a playmate, and each adventure stowed in the safekeeping of my autumn-scented memories.

And when Jamie wakes, I’ll be there, curled at her feet, my tail twitching with dreams of interstellar escapades. She’ll never know that her Jackson, the Lancashire gent with the moonlit badge, is also Captain Jackson, fearlessly charting the canine cosmos. “Oh, the city you protect,” she’d whisper. If only you knew, Jamie. If only you knew.

The End.

Share This Story: