Astropup and the Key to the Universe

This is Richard, and I am here to introduce the latest instalment in our canine space adventure, Astropup. If you have heard the earlier stories, you will know that Astropup tells them in his own words. So, if you will just hang on for a moment, let me adjust the microphone stand down to dog level. Thank you Richard. As you know, by the standards of the Universe, it’s a little more than a skip and a jump to the moon – a mere 240,000 miles. The humans gave me a special probe to take there. It was a gizmo that measured moisture, and temperature, and ultrasonic thingies, and solar whatnots, and all sorts of clever stuff. Some smart-alec scientist made it in the shape of a bone to encourage me to bury it. My comrade, the Parrot, who came along with me, thought that was very funny. Our Lunar Module touched down on the moon nice and soft-like. After two days cooped up in that tin can, I was desperate to go for space walkies, and I wasn’t going to hang around while the Parrot put me on a lead. I bounded out of the hatch and out onto the moon. Soon I found myself bouncing around like a rubber ball. On the moon, you take a little leap and you fly forward about twelve feet. It’s great fun. “RRRRWOOF!” I barked with glee. “Haven’t you forgotten something?” squawked the Parrot Major. Of course, I had left the bone-shaped space probe behind in the ship. I used my tail as a rudder to try and steer myself round and back to our craft, but it had no effect, and I just kept bouncing in the wrong direction. “Help!!! I can’t stop!” I called out. I must have bounced uncontrollably for about a mile or so before I finally came to an abrupt halt in a shallow crater, all covered in dusty old rocks – and I wasn’t even sure which way I had come. “Oh dear,” I said. “Oh dear oh dear! I am doomed to die on this forsaken moon! Awe, Awe, Awe AWOOOOOOOOOO!!” The strangest thing was, I heard my voice echoing back. “AWOOOOOOOOOO!!” And then I heard a “Woof Woof Woof!” and I knew that wasn’t me, because I hadn’t woofed at all. That was a moment of great excitement, when I realized that I was not the only dog on the moon. I peered over in the direction of a hill and I saw the unmistakable silhouette of one of my own kind. He was pointing his muzzle in the air and baying at the planet Earth. Soon I was taking giant lunar leaps in the direction of the dog. I could hear the Parrot squawking over the radio. “Wrong Way! Come back here you dumb pooch!” But I took not a jot of notice. I was heading for a close encounter with my own kin Now I was close to the moon dog, I could see he had grey hairs around his nose. He was an indistinct breed – just a dog sort of dog. But the strangest thing was that he was breathing the thin air of the moon without an oxygen mask. “I have been waiting for you these past 2000 years.” “Oh,” I said, “I’m sorry if I’m late.” “No,” said he, “You are right on time. I must give you this.” And so saying he scratched at the moon dust with his paw and revealed a small golden object. “What is it?” I asked. “It is,” said he, “the key to the Universe.” There was much more that I wanted to ask, but I was unable to do so, for they were his last words. I think if I had not brought the key back in my mouth, the Parrot would have assumed that I had made the whole story up. But there it was – the golden proof that I was neither doggy-dreaming nor fibbing. “What’s that?” he squawked “It is,” I said gravely, “the key to the Universe.” “Ah, “It’s not just any old key. This key will open Pandora’s Box.” “Panda’s Box?” I gruffed quizzically. “Pandora’s Box, cloth ears. It’s an ancient legend. Long ago, on the slopes of Mount Olympus in Greece, a shepherd dog found a metal box. He took it up in his mouth, and tail wagging he brought it to his master as a present. On the box was written the name, Pandora, which means, the gift of the universe. The shepherd tried to open the box, but it was locked firmly shut. He took it to his friend the blacksmith, who put it on his anvil and bashed it with all his might with his heaviest hammer, but still the box would not break or open or even dent. Last year it turned up in an auction and was sold to the British Museum for £1 million. All we have to do when we get back to Earth, is to break into the British Museum, steal the box, and open it – and then we will be in possession of great knowledge that will make us rich and powerful beyond the wildest dreams.” On the way back down to Earth, the Parrot faked a malfunction in the computer of our spacecraft. He plopped us in the English Channel where we were picked up by the Royal Navy. From there, we were taken to London where the Space Agency paid for us to stay in a plush hotel on Park Lane. It was the first time I have ever slept in a four poster bed. It was just a shame that the Parrot was perched on the bed rail, because at 1am he squawked: “Oi Pooch, time to wake up.” 15 minutes later we were in the middle of Hyde Park. “Now get digging.” And so I dug. And then he told me to dig some more, and some more, until the hole was deep enough to satisfy him. Finally he dropped the key in, and I covered it up with earth using my hind legs. Next stop was Russell Square, which we reached by night bus. We found ourselves outside the firmly closed gates of the famous British Museum. “What next?” I asked the master planner. “Wait and see,” he said. And we waited. And we Waited. And I tucked my muzzle under my paws. And I closed one eye. And then - Woooooosh! I was up on my four feet. A streak of light shot out of the sky and straight through the dome of the Museum. “What in the Solar System was that?” I asked. And the Parrot replied with the two words that rouse my heckles and my anger more than any other pair of words in the Universe. “Cat people.” “GRRRRRRRR,” I said. “Calm down. The cat people have been following us ever since we left the orbit of the moon. They’re after Pandora’s Box the same as we are.” “And are we just going to let them take it?” I asked. “Yes.” “Yes?” “Yes, because it’s no good to anyone without the key. And only we know where the key is hidden. Now wait here while I have a quick parley with the enemy.” So saying, he flapped off up to the roof of the Museum where two hideous forms were already climbing out of the hole that they had made with their in-coming vessel. I could see that the Parrot was fluttering about their heads – just out of claw distance – and speaking to them – but not for long – because soon the sky filled with the juddering noise of a police helicopter. In an instant, they were off into the shadows of the London skyline. The Parrot flew back to me. ‘We’ll meet them in Hyde Park just before dawn.” I found it hard to contain a growl when we came face to face with the hideous cat people. They were the most dreaded and dangerous sort of feline. They were siamese cat commandos, from an elite regiment that prowled deep behind enemy lines leaving chaos, mayhem and confusion in their wake. “Woof! Woof! Woof!” I said. I couldn’t help myself. “Your job is to shut up and dig.” And so turning my hind-quarters on the cat people I started to dig, and in doing so, kicked earth in their faces. Finally I found the key and held it firmly between my front teeth. There was no way that I was letting it go before they produced the box. One of the cat people placed it on the ground and stood back covering it with a laser gun. “Put the guns on the ground over by that tree,” said the Parrot. “Or the deal’s off.” And after some meowing and complaining the pair did as he said. The Parrot took the key from me and turned it with his beak in the lock of Pandora’s Box. The lid sprung open. One of the cat people pounced and tried to grab the box, but I met him with barred teeth and he backed off. “Okay everyone, calm down,” said the Parrot. “It appears that there is a scroll inside this box and on it are written the 3 secrets of the Universe. “I, Bonzotes, the greatest of the dog philosophers, hereby summarise for all posterity the secrets of the Universe which I have discovered through a lifetime of contemplation.” 1) The Theory of Relativity Time passes seven times faster for dogs than for human beings. Therefore one year of a dog’s life is equal to seven of a person’s. 2) The Big Bone Theory The Universe starts with a whimper and ends with a woof. 3) The Survival of the Stupidest The dumber animals who concentrate on food, water, sleep and running around the park will prevail. I could see from their spiky fur and arched backs that the cat people did not appreciate these secrets. “You’re making it up,” hissed one. “Hand over the scroll,” hissed the other showing his claws. And in the dawn light, I started growl. I heard a sound that was music to my ears - a great cacophony of woofs and barks. Two alsatian dogs and a doberman pinscher came racing down the hill to where we were fighting. They went crazy and were ready to shred the catty alien intruders. The cat people headed straight for their spaceship which was just then collecting an early morning parking ticket on Park Lane. I saw them shoot up into the sky and into outer orbit. “Good Riddance!” I growled, as the park dogs gave them a send off with a chorus of barks and I thought: “Yes, dog-kind is safe.” We have followed the advice of the great one.