Hey Mom,

Brace yourself, I’m the unsuspecting furry hero of a celestial saga up here! Imagine me, Chloe, your spacefaring Pug, navigating through the Milk Bone Nebula with a crew that’s crazier than a box of frogs. We’ve dodged asteroids, contemplated life beyond Beagle Beach, and even steered clear of ham-flavored stars – yes, they’re a drool-worthy reality out here! From sandy paws on earth to space-time tug-of-war, I’m sniffing out adventure and proving bravery’s not just for the big dogs. Gazing at the cosmic dance, I carry a piece of home in my heart, bold as ever.

Catch you in the stardust,
Chlobo 🌟🐾

Listen to the story here

Well, picture this, there I was in the sprawling metropolis of Spencerville, where the sky shimmers with a perennial twilight – a place sort of in-between, you know? A place where the giggles of corgis echo through Beagle Beach and where the owls and the pussycats, they don’t mess with you, they got better things to do. It’s not like back home, where a sneaky squirrel death-stares me during my lake walks, then runs up its tree, laughing with every leap it takes.

I, Chloe, the Pug – yep, that’s me – bravely standing on the deck of the S.S. Snuffle, the flagship of the Pet Starfleet. Just outside, the cosmos… it doesn’t twinkle, no, it glows, it pulses, it dances – a celestial ballet, endlessly unfolding, just for us.

Here’s the thing: in space, it’s quiet. Quiet enough to hear yourself think, quiet enough that the hum of the stars becomes a lullaby. Sure, I miss her – the human mom – the one who knew the exact spot behind my ears that, when scratched, made my leg kick just so. But this? This is an adventure even she’d tuck in to watch with hot cocoa and a grin – on our couch, me snuggled up next.

I’ve got this crew, see? There’s Maximus, the Golden Retriever – the captain – he’s got more medals than I’ve got hairs. Then, there’s Luna, the Persian cat with a wit so sharp, could cut a comet clean in two. We’re a gaggle of cosmic voyagers, out to chart the Milk Bone Nebula. Luna says it’s very likely not made of milk bones, but what does she know? She’s a cat.

It’s funny, how you get to thinking when you orbit a giant ham-flavored star – yep, they have those out here, and it doesn’t half make you drool. You muse on the important things, like what it means to be a good girl, or how to play tug-of-war with the fabric of space-time itself.

But heroism? It’s not just for the legends, it’s for the everydog, every day. My paws on the control panel feel the same as they did on earth’s soil – sandy at Beagle Beach, sticky at the threshold of The Bark Shak, waiting for a treat. And it’s confounding, this yearning for adventure while your heart, it pines for the arms of a human who smells like safety and sounds like love.

Our mission’s straightforward, they say. A jaunt across the cosmos, mapping stars and sniffing out new worlds where the grass is always green, and the hydrants never run dry. But the thing about space? It’s full of surprises. Like that time we warped into an asteroid field, and I was in charge of navigation. Oh, I steered us clear, not a hair out of place, but my thoughts? A whirl of turkey-steak-ham all jumbled up in zero gravity.

Luna, she looks at me and says, “You did good, Pug,” and that’s akin to a symphony, coming from her. I didn’t let slip the terror in my heart, no, for I am Chloe – the Pug who looks asteroids in the eye and says, “Not today.”

I used to think that Spencerville was the final frontier, where an ear rub lasted an eternity and a steak was always moments away. But out here, flying past supernovas and black holes, contemplating time and space and the cosmic fetch that never ends, I see it – Spencerville’s just the start.

We’re bound for the endless beyond, for the waiting void that thrums with the silent songs of the universe. And behind every twinkle, every whisper of the cosmos, lies the promise of reunion. So, I soar, the little Pug who could, across the stars, through the stream of consciousness that ties me to both the infinity of space and the infinity of love.

So, when you look up at the night sky, think of me, think of Chloe, the Pug not just chasing balls, but chasing the very stardust from which we came.

The End.