If Shep’s fellow Space Janitor (086) was down here, he would find out soon enough. His grip slipped, and he fell. It was a short drop into the cold, what he hoped was, water. Shep used all his might to surface as quick as he could. The missing foot sent him veering off to the right. It would get infected, and he’d have to lose more of the leg. What a spiffing day, Shep thought to himself.
Once his head was above water, you know what, liquid is more fitting. Shep got his head above the liquid. Looked to the nearest shore. He swam in that direction. He doggy paddled, but due to his canine composition, he referred to it as paddled.
Shep was tired. He took a look down at his leg. There was a wound. It used to have a foot connected. Shep could see the bone. He padded it off and inspected it as best as he could. The wound had become weepy, and Shep followed suit. He endured long days. He suffered days that felt shorter but were more packed with experience than others. Shep had never suffered a day such as this.
His canine nature got the better of him, and without his full realisation, he began to howl. They were long sorrowful howls. Howls that you would not expect of such a well-groomed dog. Howl, he did none the less. Even a dog in a tux, with a monocle and old-time tobacco cigarette, was still underneath a dog. Shep was no exception. One may have felt as if there was a moon nearby, such was the length and pitch of the howling. Shep realised he was howling and then grew deeply ashamed, which led to him howling longer and harder.
“Who the heck is doing all that, howling?” asked a familiar voice.
Would you mind reading from the beginning because it’s a fantastic place to start. You can find the first instalment of Space Janitor by clicking here.