Personal Log. Commodore's Liaison, Jean Spratt. 03.28.3001.
It's good to be back on a ship, even if it seems like I'm just an over-paid dog groomer. Speaking of which, I'm going to have to be more careful with Fergie, the Captain's – I mean Commodore's – French Poodle. Johnny Junior always had a tendency to kill his pets ever since he got his first goldfish. There isn't a malicious bone in that sweet boy's body, but whether it was a rabbit or hamster, they always seemed to meet their end in some freak accident. Just today, Fergie was packed away with the rest of our luggage in the baggage hold of our transport from Earth to space dock. With no heat back there, that poor pooch froze solid.
Johnny Junior never could deal with death very well, moaning and blubbering, so after a while we cloned his pets and just slid hamster #2 into the cage or turtle #3 into the aquarium. To prepare for this trip, I have four other Fergies stowed away on board the Libarace, but at this rate we won't make it one week on our voyage before their all deceased.
Luckily, Dr. Leary was able to revive the dog from a frozen animation, but the sweet thing no longer understands its ups from downs. It moves about the room in some sort of yoga back-stroke. I was hoping to show off Fergie's new little captain's uniform when the Commodore greeted the crew, but no amount of gold tassles and brass buttons will distract people from the fact that it's a canine contortionist.
It's just like one of Johnny's favorite 20th Century movies, The Exorcist, when the possessed girl crawls down the stairs – a creepy, demon possessed French Poodle skittering about like a lobster.
Fergie just crab-walked into the room. THE POWER OF CHIRST COMPELS YOU. THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU! Where's a bottle of holy water when you need it.
She just piddled on herself.
