Hey there, it’s your intergalactic furball, Yukon. 🚀 Just so you know, I’ve been promoted from neighborhood pup to captain of a starship! I’m steering The Midnight Howler through Spacerville, outsmarting Citrusoids with my crew of space-savvy pets. 🐾🌌 Lands, lemons are NOT my jam, but victory will be. Tail wags & star tales coming your way soon. 🐕✨ Over & out. #SpaceHuskySquad

Listen to the story here

Alright, let’s blast off.

There I was, Yukon, once a mere terrestrial husky, now the captain of the bone-shaped starcruiser, The Midnight Howler. This ship, my swashbuckling vessel through the cosmos, cruised the ether of uncharted wilds in a place beyond places, a convergence of infinity known as Spacerville. It’s a lot like Spencerville, but with more stardust and fewer fire hydrants to conduct earthly business on.

The fables of Spencerville weren’t lost on me. No, sir. The mythic Poodle Pond and Cream Maltese Meadow now galaxies away, replaced by stellar phenomena like the Nebulous Spaniel Spiral and the Great Dane Galaxy. Earthly delights were now cosmic wonders.

My crew? Well, none other than the Baker’s terrier, T-Bone, manning the photon collars, and Whiskers, an astromancer of feline ancestry who could navigate blackholes like a dream. Oh, and let’s not forget Skippy, the star-trekking squirrel who’d zipped around more moons than you could wag a tail at.

With the kind of thick coat that mocks the void’s chill and a tail that charts my course like a comet’s trail, I stood proud at the helm. Cockpit smells were a cocktail of roast chicken (synthesized to perfection) and a slight whiff of apple pie afterburn—a warning against pushing the hyperwoof drive too hard. Steeling my gaze through the viewport, Spacerville lay outstretched, a smorgasbord of cosmic escapades, shimmering brightly against the pitch-black velvet of space.

“Cap’n Yukon, incoming transmission from Sergeant Whiskerbits,” barked T-Bone, ears twitching with voltage.

“Put it through,” I howled.

The screen flickered to life, showing the fur-bristled face of the famed space tabby and sworn guardian of the Milky Mouse Way. “Yukon, trouble’s brewing. The Citrusoids have launched a full-scale sour offensive,” he meowed, his whiskers twitching earnestly.

I ruffled my fur, grimacing. Lemons. Of all the celestial fruits in the cosmos, why did it have to be lemons? Those tart torpedoes made my muzzle do the twist, and not in the good way.

“Chart a course,” I declared, my mischievous spark flashing like a supernova in my eyes. “We tail those sourpusses to the end of the universe if we must.”

As The Midnight Howler tore through the fabric of space-time like it was wet paper, the joy of the chase was upon us. The starboard wing was where I found my sunny spot, the same as I did on the porch back home, overseeing my ship like it was my loyal kingdom.

“So, what’s the play, cap’n?” Skippy queried, scampering along the dashboard.

I flashed a grin. “We give ’em a chase they’ll never forget. You ready to dance through their defenses like a leaf on an autumn wind?”

With a nod sharper than a squirrel’s incisor, the chase was on. Bobbing and weaving through asteroid belts, with that old, tattered rope of space-time knotted firmly in my jaws, we sought freedom, adventure—a narrative only space could write.

Evading citrus-shaped fighters, we zigzagged across the final frontier to the rendezvous point. There we’d claim victory in the grand space opera of Spacerville—a testament to the bond of otherworldly friends, looped tighter than the orbits of twin planets.

As we swooped onto the rendezvous, a flurry of star-tailed comets, and a crescendo of cosmic chords, I knew in that infinite moment, Spacerville might wait, but our stories, our legends, were making the Kessel Run right here, right now.

And when the day comes for all creatures, great and small, to be reunited in Spencerville, you can bet your bottom biscuit I’ll have tales to spin—tales of the husky who played fetch with the stars.

The End.