Inquiring dogs want to know: are we next in line for cosmic glory, stardust biscuits and zero-gravity squeaky toys—is this happening or what?
First, let’s get something straight. We sniffed around. We poked our cold noses into Elon Musk’s space tweets and even tried to decode a few press releases (difficult when you don’t have opposable thumbs but we make do). All signs point to two things:
- People have way too much money to burn.
- The humans are indeed headed for Mars. Phobos, Deimos, IKEA flatpacks, the whole gig.
Now, look. We dogs have been loyal companions in cars, commercial airplanes, purses, kayaks, and, tragically, a few rollercoaster rides we didn’t consent to. So why not space?
Recall Laika. Or, better yet, don’t.
Let’s talk about Laika, the good Soviet girl who blazed trails for science and became a hero. A statue. A permanent part of dog lore. But did anyone ask her if she wanted to go into orbit, or would she have preferred a foie gras chew toy and a nap?
The answer is clear. She didn’t even get a say. The humans basically said, “Good dog! Now wear this helmet and stay chill while we shove you inside this metal popsicle.”
So, forgive us if the current buzz about colonizing Mars has us slightly skeptical. We suspect it’s not going to involve enough belly rubs or chicken-flavored dental sticks. And where would we relieve ourselves? Mars dust doesn’t look biodegradable.
Zero-gravity zoomies? We’re listening.
Admittedly, there are potential upsides. Less gravity means more air time per jump. Your average corgi could finally launch itself off the couch and do a full aerial somersault without blowing out a knee. Think about the TikToks. Think about the kibble endorsements. “Canine Comet: Sponsored by Beggin’ Strips.”
Then again, they barely let us on Amtrak without a special vest. You expect us to believe they’ll allocate rocket real estate to a bunch of furry freeloaders who still can’t resist chasing their own tails?
Let’s talk logistics
Pee breaks on Mars? Complicated. Dog parks? Sparse. Mail carriers to bark at? Nonexistent (unless Jeff Bezos gets weird). Will we need space boots? Doggles? Our traditional squirrel-chasing instincts might not map well to Martian fauna—or lack thereof. Also, have we mentioned the temperature is “freeze-off-your-paws” cold?
And don’t even start on space suits. If you’ve ever tried putting a raincoat on a golden retriever, you know the existential war that ensues. Now scale that up to vacuum-safe polymers and tail-accommodating oxygen ports.
A modest proposal
Here’s what we suggest: send the robots first, then the billionaires. When they’ve built a cozy, fenced-in colony equipped with gravity-adjusted tennis balls, robotic squirrels, warm fireplaces, and automatic treat dispensers—we’ll consider it. Until then, we’re quite content chasing frisbees on Earth’s grassy plains, thank you very much.
Besides, most of us think Mars smells weird. And if there’s one universal dog truth—it’s that we trust our noses more than any space agency.
So, dear humans, before you strap Fido to a rocket and hope for the best, maybe just toss another peanut butter bone and let us sleep. Mars can wait.