Hey fam! 🐾✨ Just thwarted the Mother Lemon as Captain James T. Bark in Pawsburgh’s great dog park galaxy & nabbed our fave treats from Pawfect Pastries post-battle. Miss my fellow terrestrial tail-waggers. Give me an ear scratch when I’m back, and hide those bath bubbles! 🚀🍗🍋 Paws and reflect, Jake 🐕💫

Stardate um…I’m a dog; I don’t do dates. It’s Jake, by the way—Captain James T. Bark of the USS Collarfleet. Instead of a starfield, we’re zipping through the great dog park in the sky, Pawsburgh.

Bella, my trusty beagle first officer, flicks an ear. “Captain, we’re approaching Bichon Boulevard. Scent scanners indicate a new bakery has just opened up on the block.”

My tail thumps against the command chair. “Pawfect Pastries?” I query, hoping against hope for a sniff of their legendary liverwurst éclairs.

“That’s affirmative, sir,” chimes in Max, the grizzled Labrador science officer. He sniffs the air like a seasoned sommelier sampling a delicate bouquet. “Ah, and they’ve got the Savory Chicken Croquettes—your favorite.”

My tongue inadvertently slaps the side of my face in response. “Set a course, Mr. Max. Engage at maximum warp speed to those croquettes!”

We cruise through Pinscher Plaza making record time. Pawsburgh is peaceful; stars twinkle like distant flecks of kibble against a canvas of inky black. Then it hits me—the rubber chicken wars. I remember like it was yesterday. Well, it might have been yesterday. Time’s funny like that when you’re a Shih Tzu with a crew to lead.

“We’ve got trouble, sir,” Bella barks, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Unknown entity straight ahead! Possibly a citrus nebula!”

I grimace. “Not lemons!” Any canine in their right mind would skitter at the thought.

Max’s wise old eyes crinkle. “It’s a big one, Captain. Our worst fears. It’s…the Mother Lemon.”

Bella’s teeth chatter. “Divert course?”

I straighten my collar, the shiny badge reflecting a speck of light. “No, we face this head-on. Activate deflector snouts and prepare to bark on my command.”

Bella nods, inspired by my bravery, or sheer absurdity – it’s hard to tell which. “Deflector snouts up!”

“The Mother Lemon—it’s attacking!” Max warns.

I flash my canines. “Now, Bella! Bark!”

Together we bark, a cacophony of canine fury that splinters through space. The Mother Lemon quivers, then implodes into a million citrusy particles that dissolve without a trace.

With the path clear, we resume course to Pawfect Pastries. My nose fills with the aroma of chicken-filled delights. But adventure always lurks in Pawsburgh.

We dock at the Onyx Otterhound Oasis for a quick refuel—a dip in the cosmic pond for Max and a touch-up at The Dapper Dog Salon for Bella. I opt out; baths are still my nemesis, their soapy embrace more daunting than any citrus scourge.

As we munch on our pastries—me with my chicken concoction, Bella a dainty sandwich, and Max with something involving a lot of bacon—we share a moment of camaraderie that only star-traveling pups might know. I chuckle at our bravery, our fellowship, and my running gag of evading every hint of a splash.

“At least it wasn’t bath time, eh, Bella?”

She rolls her eyes, letting out a laugh that’s more snort than anything. “Lucky you, Cap’n.”

“And Max, my friend, did you pack your space suit for the water?”

“Always ready, sir,” he replies with a gruff chuckle.

The USS Collarfleet hums softly, its engines purring, ready for further whimsical escapades. We’re voyagers of the kibble quadrant, explorers of dogdom’s outer sushi-roll, each sniff an odyssey, every tail wag a new chapter in the never-ending quest for the ultimate scratch behind the ears.

It’s another day, another adventure in Pawsburgh. Captain’s log, end of entry. Can someone remind me to chew that rubber chicken when we get home? It’s been far too long.

The End.