Hey, it’s me, Daisy Tailwags! 🚀🐾 Just wanted to let you know that I’m living the dream out here in the cosmos as captain of the *Barktrek Enterprise*. We’re on a trail-sniffing space quest, chasing comets and cosmic butterflies, and sharing intergalactic pancakes. It’s like Spencerville gave us puppers a spaceship and said, “Go be awesome!” Miss the earth, but we’ve got a dwarf galaxy to explore! Catch you on the furry flip side. ✨🦴 – Captain D

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I find myself nestled among the stars, rather more literally than figuratively, aboard the grand starship *Barktrek Enterprise*. Oh, what a sleek vessel she is, fashioned from the dreams of a thousand napping pups, with hulls as shiny as chewed-up dog bowls and engines purring as gently as a contented mastiff on a Sunday afternoon.

Spencerville’s embrace had always been snug, like a favorite sweater that smells faintly of home and biscuits. Indeed, I, Daisy—somehow both starship commander and charming Shichon—was relishing in the human-like existence that Spencerville afforded. And yet, here I am, voyaging through the cosmos with my motley crew of canine companions, all of us fashioned from the tales our beloved people spun as we parted ways.

Sherlock, that wise old beagle, is now the ship’s chief detective, sniffing out interstellar mysteries. With him was our terrier mix, Tilly, who could pilot the ship with such zeal that I’m certain I’ve seen her tail wag faster than light itself. My siblings, Bruno and Luna, manned the stations, one growling commands that could be heard through the din of space-time and the other still chasing after cosmic butterflies that only her soft heart could see.

As I lounge thoughtfully on my captain’s perch—a splendid zero-gravity dog bed replete with squeaky rubber ducks that now float eerily around me—I’m struck by the notion that there’s an art to this starship lark. It’s a certain savoir-faire that us dogs have always held, buried within the marrow of our bones, knowing how to live wholly in the moment, whether chasing shadows on Earth or comets in the void.

It’s an average nebula-filled Tuesday—or maybe Wednesday; time is rather pliable here—when the scent of Furrific Fried Chicken wafts through the corridors of the *Barktrek*. The ship’s replicators are a jolly good sport, taking our favorite earthly victuals and dishing them out at the bark of a command. Yet, I refrain from the poultry today, indulging instead in a bowl of Pawsome Pancakes, slathered in peanut butter because in space, no one can judge your caloric intake.

I recall with a tinge of distaste, my disdain for citrus. It was the orange scare of ’22 that had me fleeing my own shadow, which, I must admit, retains its charm even in the eternal night of the cosmos. Tilly chuckles as I recount the tale, her chirpy laughter creating ripples in the fabric of space that one can almost see if one squints enough.

Now, where one might stumble upon conflict or calamity in such an odyssey, we find camaraderie and curiosity. Each uncharted planet, each undocumented life form, a wheel within wheels of stories that await our noses. Do they have rubber ducks? Do they understand the profound comfort found in the cool tile of a kitchen floor? Do they, perchance, even know the joys of a wagging tail?

“Set a course for the Small Magellonic Cloud,” I declare with a decisive swish of my tufted head-fur, feeling particularly captain-like at this juncture. Bruno barks in agreement, already one paw on the navigation panel, ready to leapfrog across the universe. Luna hums a tune that dances with the stars, while Sherlock offers a philosophical treatise on the likelihood of finding rare treats on a dwarf galaxy.

Indeed, we’re a pack of pups piloting through the endless ether, a floating, barking contradiction to the notion of silent space. Perhaps it’s not Spencerville, with its Chihuahua Castles and Fawn Cream Maltese Meadows, but it’s an adventure painted anew—a smear of paw prints across the celestial sphere. Surely, the Hendersons would be proud.

I close my eyes, the familiar phantom pressure of their loving hands in my fur, and I soar on. This is the way of Spencerville’s departed: we are not lost, but exploring, ever exploring, until that far-off day when reunions are not just a dream but an eagerly anticipated destination.

The End.

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