Hey Mom & Dad 👋🌌,

Just a quick update from your spacefaring furball, Huerro! 🚀 I’ve become the captain of the S.S. Snuffle, boldly sniffing out adventure in the cosmos alongside my motley crew of space pups 🐶🐾. We’re currently en route to the Cuddle Cluster for some epic cosmic cuddles, with no cats in sight! 😼🚫

Imagine me, a small doggo from Pawsburg, tail wagging among the stars ✨. Remember how you’d ask, “who’s a good boy?” Spoiler: Still me! Keep your phones ready for cuddle cluster selfies 📸 – it’s sure to be a snuggle fest out here.

Miss you and your belly rubs, sending pawfuls of stardust your way! 🐾💫

Love,
Huerro (aka My Fat Boy)

Listen to the story here

The moment I catch wind it’s time for an interstellar jaunt, my tail twitches with a more fervent beat than the heart of Pawsburg at the break of dawn. Every escapade is an echo of our boldness.

I’m Huerro, by the way, cream coat extraordinaire and captain of the S.S. Snuffle, cruising the milky boulevards of space with my crew. Today, I slipped away from my beloved human’s cozy lap and the snores of Earth, bounding toward Eskimo Estuary for recruits. The lure of Hound’s Hotdogs, a siren call even for the stalwart Sissy – a mastiff with gusto on par with my own – is undeniable.

“Hey, Cap,” Sissy woofs, her eyes twinkling like the North Star, “ready to tango with the unknown today?”

“The unknown *wishes* it could tango with us,” I retort. Living as we do in Pawsburgh, our ambitions checked only by the setting sun (or the sudden urge for a nap).

Journeying through the hazel bend of Amber Akita Alley, we gather our familiar crew – a motley of mutts mastering the machinery of Pawsburg’s finest paw-crafted starship. Here, in our haven, our lives are not mere footnotes in humankind’s book of life—we are the scribes of our own legendary saga.

As we board the ship, the engine purrs like a kitten I’d rather avoid. To our navigator, a Weimaraner with a map memorized in scents rather than stars, I bark, “Set coordinates for the Cuddle Cluster. I have a hunch that it’s ripe for exploration.”

“Another gut feeling, Huerro?” Sissy pokes fun at my intuition, but there’s faith flickering in her tone.

My gut feelings are infallible, like a squeaky toy’s allure after a long day. Those feelings jounce me through the Weimaraner Woods, where dreams take root and flourish into cosmic quests.

Strapped into my command chair, I overlook my bristling crew, and within this fortified capsule of camaraderie, we jet off. I imagine as we sail among shooting stars and nebulous wonders, my mom’s voice calling out for a “who’s a good boy?” Of course, she means me.

The Canine Cafe satellite branch on the starboard side offers delectable delights unknown to Earthly tastebuds. A dog’s gotta dine, as they say, and space kibbles make the rounds, served with the same elegance Nora might pen a dialogue between lovers, yet here it’s just food and famished dogs, never anything less appetizing than adoration between kin.

I turn to Sissy and muse, “Imagine the cats’ faces if they saw us now.”

A chuckle – more like a snort – erupts from her jowls. “They’d swear off their nine lives and ask to join,” she replies, and even the stars seem to giggle with delight.

Space stretches around us like the park back home—endless and freeing—with each uncharted sector a lake to dip our curious paws in. Today, the Cuddle Cluster’s twinkling lights beckon us. “The snuggliest nebula in the galaxy,” according to the brochure that the Tail Wagger’s Tailor distributed last solar cycle.

Approaching our bountiful destination, the snuggles it boomingly promises us are cosmic cuddles. The stars cling together there as if afraid of the dog park’s disarray, avoiding the chaotic tussle of asteroids tumbling like toys during peak play hour. And there’s no dreaded seafood in sight.

“Commence sequence, operation Snuggle,” I announce, “maximum warp cuddle.”

Though I disdain solitude, even these intergalactic spaces bring to my heart the echo of my mom’s footsteps, the joy of the park and the contentment that, even in my Pawsburg reveries or soaring through stardust, my roots remain coiled snugly around a squeaky fluffy pig and my human’s tender voice, whispering tales of a little dog and his big adventures.

The End.