Hey Dad,

Just zoomed through the cosmos in my peanut butter-powered starship, all the while contemplating the mysteries of the universe… and lettuce. Guided only by my prodigious sniffer, I valiantly braved intergalactic landscapes and exclusive inner-space musings. Landed safely back in the garden—more tales for the bark-alogue. Space might be the final frontier, but I’m just getting started!

Woofs and wags,
Holly (a.k.a. Little Slice of Angel Pie) 🐾✨

P.S. Let’s keep the lettuce thing between us, alright?

When twilight stitches its last golden thread across the horizon, the grand escapades begin—usually. But last night was different. You see, I am Holly, the illustrious English Bulldog, famed throughout Pawsburgh for my … let’s call it determined nature. And I had set my sights on the stars.

Oh, not literally—at least not at first. Adventure found me in the snuggest corner of Earth, within a lush garden I consider my open-air palace, a place where even ear-cleaning is tolerated because, well, the sun warms my spotted ears and everything seems an escapade away.

You must understand, despite my culinary eclecticism, I draw the line at lettuce. It’s a vile weed masquerading as food. This preference, or disapproval, transported me to the threshold of cosmic discoveries. I was lounging in the backyard when the aroma of tantalizing delights seized my nostrils. It wasn’t the dreaded leafy greens but something… celestial.

Bathed in my thoughts and picked up by my four paws, I sauntered into a speckled carton that quietly materialized beside me. Adopting the most casual of airs as only a dog of my intellect could manage, I muttered, “Holly, your seat at the intergalactic roundtable awaits.”

The carton wasn’t a carton at all but my vessel, a starship, fastened with a peanut butter-powered engine, or perhaps it was just my cherished toy lodged there somehow—it’s fuzzy. Nevertheless, I commanded, “Engage!”

In a whir of fantasy, I ventured past Amber Akita Alley, whizzed over Papillon Promenade, and looped Affenpinscher Avenue.

“Pooch’s Pizzeria will have to wait,” I mused, a pizzeria seldom missed, but I was on a mission, a pet starship endeavor. And with every chew of my trusty peanut-butter-bone, we hurtled through constellations, leaving a trail of dog drool across the cosmos.

I glanced at my reflection upon the control panel, resembling those starship captains from human televisions, who somehow always had time for monologues amid crises.

“We find ourselves,” I began, the deep tones of my bark echoing through the hollows of my cardboard starship (it’s spacious), “on a voyage of inexplicable diversity. Here I am, Holly of Earth, chasing the eternal question: Why lettuce?”

The journey was effortlessly punctuated by bars of music—I suspect it was Uncle Ron mowing the lawn again, but to me, it was the symphonic resonance of space.

“Aye,” I said to no one, with a philosophical tilt of my head, “perhaps we must taste the bland to appreciate the savory,” as if I was a wise old sage instead of a connoisseur of table scraps.

You see, in the company of the star-studded cloak wrapped around my ship, I fancied myself a bit of a Woody Allen, delivering soliloquies about life’s idiosyncrasies. Who would’ve thought space sounded so much like my dad’s lawnmower?

My interstellar expedition might have been a reverie, a product of my layered dreams; perhaps even now I float upon that leafy sea, but this I consider: What’s life but a collection of extraordinary tales barked in the face of the mundane?

As the scent of the actual universe coaxed me from the slumber within my space carton, I found that Holly of Earth had successfully escorted her ship through galaxies unknown, only to dock quietly in her familiar garden.

As I emerged, shaking off my astral dreams, the backyard seemed a more vivid tapestry of my adventures. And when Dad opened the door to call me in, I looked up with the eyes of a bulldog who’d seen beyond the fences of Pawsburgh and whispered, “I abhor baths, but I adore the universe.”

There, in the quiet of a nascent night, my Starship Holly found her berth once more, poised for the next evening’s starlit saunter.

The End.