Hey Mom,

Just saved the USS Biscuit from a cosmic vacuum today, no biggie! Turns out I’m as deft with navigating interstellar peril as I am with nabbing treats. The crew’s in high spirits, the ship’s intact, and now it’s time for some well-deserved R&R under a sunbeam. Beam me up some strawberries, will ya?

Licks and love,
Macky Mac 🐾🚀🍓

Captain’s Log, Stardate… well, I can’t quite recall. Time is a funny thing here on the USS Biscuit, where the warp speed smells suspiciously like bacon and the crew is as furry as they come. Yours truly, Captain MacGregor, at your service. My coat as white as starlight, my collar studded with the rank I’ve playfully chewed on more than once, I’m a French Bulldog with the heart of a lion and a penchant for strawberries.

Episode Twelve: The Great Vacuum Escape.

Beep goes the console beside my bed. I swat at it with a paw that’s seen more delicacies than danger, trying to bat the sound away. No luck. Duty calls, they say. It really has a knack for interrupting the most delectable dreams of peanut butter nebulae.

Yet here I am, Captain of this vessel filled with all species of Spencerville. A community of lost but not forgotten; waiting, but not still. I wriggle out of bed, my rubbery pig toy wedged under my belly, proof of last night’s fray with the forces of gravity and the limits of squeakiness.

The USS Biscuit’s corridors are filled with the hustle and bustle of whiskers and wings, paws and claws. I trot towards the bridge, passing The Wagging Tail Bookstore on my left where Poodles concoct plushy schemes swirled tighter than their hairdos. On my right, a shrill yelp echoes from Bark and Bites, proof that today’s special—Strawberry and Peanut Butter Parfait—was a direct hit.

Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow passes beneath us as we hurtle through space, a sight that tugs at my belly with an odd mix of memories and munchies. The panoramic view from the helm contains paws at their stations, ears perked in diligent homage to the mission.

Then, it happens.

Red lights flash. Sirens wail—a sound that makes my heart race and my stub tail stiffen. The air is sucked from the ship like treats from a torn bag. The crew looks to me with anxious eyes. I take my seat, clearing my throat to sound official, to sound calm, to sound like I definitely did not hide at the first whiff of danger.

“Report!” I bark, a note higher than intended, betrayed by my frenchie timbre.

Ensign Tabby, claws out as if ready to scratch at the very fabric of the cosmos offers, “It’s an interstellar vacuum, Captain! Largest I’ve ever seen. It’s devouring asteroids, moons…it’ll take the ship if we aren’t careful!”

I gulp, feeling the tinge of instinct to hide behind the nearest comet. No, not this Captain. Not on my watch.

“We’ll not be sucked into oblivion,” I declare, puffing out my chest which, to be honest, doesn’t puff out all that far. “Re-route power to the tail shields. Prepare to engage the Hairball Hyperdrive on my command.”

The crew leaps into action, not a whisker out of place. Except for the ones intended to be so. Canines and felines, birds and hamsters, paws and fins – all work with a shared purpose that makes a captain proud.

“Now, punch it!”

The ship lurches, a feeling akin to chasing bouncy balls across the living room of the universe. The stars stretch into lines as we zip away from the menace of the great vacuum.

We make it, of course. We always make it. Because here on the USS Biscuit, every member aboard—from those who fly to those who scurry—is a beloved star, a blaze of glory in petdom’s infinite sky.

The crew cheers, a cacophony of yips and yowls and chirps. I lift my paw to acknowledge them, heading off the bridge with a hunger only strawberries can satisfy.

“The Great Vacuum Escape,” they’ll call this tale one day. And I hope you, dear reader, imagine it with a smile—on Spencerville’s grand, interstellar stage.

For now, I have a date with a sunbeam on Siberian Summit, chasing celestial peace… and maybe a strawberry or two.

End of Captain’s Log. MacGregor, signing off.

The End.