Hey Fam,

Just zipping around the galaxy in the S.S. Squeaky Pig, doing the usual – saving Pawsburg from the claws of evil with Rover, Max and Bella. We landed into a eerily silent Pawsburg. Seemed like all the good boys and girls are mysteriously gone. Squeaky toys await liberation. Don’t fret, I’m on the case! Tail wags and chicken chomps, stay tuned.

Your interstellar pup,
Kash 🚀🐾

Listen to the story here

Using the handlebars of the immensity of space, I expertly navigate our starship, the S.S. Squeaky Pig, through the cosmo-canine void between Earth and the frolicking precincts of Pawsburg. My constellation of friends – Rover, Max and Bella alike – man the stations with tails wagging faster than the speed of light.

Paw on the throttle, head cocked to the side, I begin our descent into Pawsburg, veering on a direct course towards the alluring meadows of Golden Gate Gardens. Yet, as Captain, it’s not all spectral frolics and gamma ray grins; immediate suspicions arise at the eeriness of our landing spot. It appeared to be as empty as a chew toy without squeak. Unusual, given the boisterously playful, tale of tails normally to be found reveling in the open spaces.

Before me, Lower Silver Siberian Summit lay motionless, and Bulldog Bay bereft of its daily bustling commotion. I swear, I could see tumbleweeds rolling despondently down the high street, passed by The Doggy Depot and The Howling Husky Hardware Store. It was an unsettling stillness that spelled shenanigans of a most unprecedented order.

Suddenly, I remember the tantalizing taste of finely chopped grilled chicken stashed away in the cargo hold, destined to be hand-delivered to The Fetching Deli, and a flamboyant trip down to the Pupsicle Palace to refuel. Perhaps a detour could unravel the mystery of this peculiar serenity.

Striding bravely onwards, playing fetch with the unknown, I landed us smoothly at The Pawfect Training Center. It seemed an invisible leash tugged us toward the stranger recesses of this canine metropolis. Disembarking with a bounce of my brindle paws, I sniffed around the center, every fiber of the adventurer in me flaring.

We ventured deep into the heart of Pawsburg, graced by the aroma of Pupperoni Pizza, taunted by the occasional dubious mutt barking enigmas from dark corners. And then, the truth hit us like the sweet sound of squeaky rubber, hidden beneath a cloud cover dense as Alpo gravy.

The citizens of Pawsburg had been imprisoned by an enemy force, wrapped in chains of leash and caged in kennels. Was this a plot to deprive dogkind of their favorite playground? By the shiny coat of Lassie, not on my watch!

To be continued, dear reader, for every dog indeed has his day, and this, was quite evidently mine.

The End.

Share This Story: