Hey there, top-dog human! Just wanted you to know that Omar the cosmic mastiff/lab and Captain of the USS Tailwagger had one heck of a night zoomin’ through the starry scape on secret space ops with my pawsome crew. I chased tales beyond the stars only to return with wagging wonders for Pawsburgh’s archives. Dreams are our fetch balls and the galaxy’s our backyard. Keep the kibble coming; interstellar travels work up quite an appetite! 🐾
– AstroPup Omar

As the sun dipped below the horizon, sending shadows cavorting across the neighborhood like mischievous imps, I felt a familiar restlessness pawing at my insides. I am Omar, after all—a strapping mass of dark brown fur with eyes like molten chocolate and the kind of soul that sails on every zephyr. Usually, my days on Earth are simple, filled with hearty meals and the gentle touch of my aging companion with tales on his lips as rich and seasoned as the food he prepares. But tonight was different.

You see, when the last human yawn has been exhaled and the evening star winks its approval, those of us with paws and a penchant for adventure slip away to Pawsburgh. Our little clandestine utopia, where we canines convene to recount our terrestrial capers. And tonight, I was determined to have a story worth telling.

As I meander through the bustling, imaginary streets of Pawsburgh, I can’t help but wag in appreciation at the symphony of barks that greet me. The moon, our testament to freedom, shines a path to where I’m headed: Vizsla Valley, where I’m to rendezvous with a squad destined for the inky unknown.

You might think it a joke, but we dogs have engineered quite the setup: a starship nestled in the valley’s covert folds, the USS Tailwagger, ready to embark on a midnight foray across the celestial sea. You wouldn’t expect such from a dog whose favorite pastime on Earth involves a tennis ball decrepit from countless sieges, yet here we were, barking softly in terms of astrophysics.

In the ship’s thrumming heart, that slobbery ball of mine has a place of honor, hooked next to the captain’s chair. It’s seen more action than those ensconced at Starfleet, each toothmark a sonnet to a victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. I lay a paw on it, the feel of triumph runs like a current up my leg, and I’m ready.

“Captain Omar reporting for duty,” I bark, full swagger and tail aloft. “Plot a course for the Canis Major sector,” I order, tongue lolling with the casual grace of David Sedaris recounting a particularly absurd interaction over a family dinner. ‘Engage!’ isn’t just a command; it’s a philosophy we live by.

Onboard, I’m surrounded by my crew: squirrels as skittish as they are genius, the velvet-pawed feline confidant, and representations of dear humans in plush toys—my pat dispensers who, when squeezed, spill fibrous goodies and recorded affirmations.

We breeze by Mastiff Meadows, seeing below a hallucination of Hound’s Hotdogs, where even now the Tongue Tide Chili is being ladled over bowls of Barkaroni and Cheese—a billet-doux for my tastebuds. A pang of hunger jolts me, but adventure calls louder than my stomach tonight.

In warp-speed, we travel where no dog has gone before, while I stew over a new epic—a tale spun of interstellar chase with buffleheaded blurbs from alien squirrels—before we slip back into the quiet backyard of my Earthly domain.

My steps are jubilant, light as if lifted by a squadron of Papillons. I make it home just as the dovetail of dawn brushes the sky. The old human is stirring, oblivious to my nocturnal odyssey, as he fills a bowl with the earthy delights that are my sustenance, minus the offensive citrus that no self-respecting dog can abide.

“Good boy, Omar,” he croons, scratching behind my ears. “Have any dreams worth chasing tonight?”

His laugh is rich, not knowing the half of it. Because for a chocolate-eyed mastiff/lab like me, the dream, the chase, and the flight are all deliciously real. And as for Pawsburgh and the USS Tailwagger, well, let’s just say the universe is infinitely more interesting with a four-legged captain at the helm.

The End.

Share This Story: