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“Aurora Borealis” by Blouie the Blue Heeler

As two entrepreneurs light up the sky on New Year’s eve one takes heart to confess his feelings in a happy ending for the job of a lifetime.

Today’s story is “Aurora Borealis” by Blouie the Blue Heeler, hobbyist writer who discovered the fuzzy side of fiction not too long ago and has dabbled in many genres  . You can find his slowly expanding collection of stories on https://bluish-gecko.sofurry.com.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcript
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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and Today’s story is

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“Aurora Borealis https://www.sofurry.com/view/1628033” by Blouie the Blue Heeler (https://bluish-gecko.sofurry.com),

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hobbyist writer who discovered the fuzzy side of fiction not too long ago

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and has dabbled in many genres .

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You can find his slowly expanding collection of stories on https://bluish

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-gecko.sofurry.

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-gecko.sofurry.com. Please enjoy:

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“Aurora Borealis” by Blouie the Blue Heeler

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31st of December, 23:53 –

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when the city that never sleeps is also the city where nobody sleeps.

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With another year about to end and the next about to begin

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New York is filled with expectant joy.

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Another year I have no paw digits left to count since I’ve met her:

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Aurora... my best friend,

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trusted companion – and co-founder.

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Fourteen years almost to the day,

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back when we started high school together...

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we’ve gone through so much since then,

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good and bad alike.

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Just like every year since I can remember Central Park has been the destination

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of many thousands of spectators

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gathering to watch the New Year’s eve fireworks.

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Manhattan’s green heart has been bustling with activity all evening

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with families and friends looking for a spot to watch the pyrotechnic show at midnight.

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If it was a year like any other

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I’d be there together with my family;

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but this year I’m not here to celebrate the new year –

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Aurora and me are here to help herald it.

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We’re specialists

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for light engineering;

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the technical term hardly lives up to what we actually achieve.

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Our speciality is the reason that brought us here:

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Landing the contract of a lifetime –

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truth be told, Aurora has been the one to convince the city’s officials to engage us –

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to help arrange part of the New Year’s celebrations.

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There’s much at stake:

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Our largest, most prestigious commission to date.

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If... no, I got to stay positive –

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when we deliver what we promised our client we can make it to the top.

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A very good reason to be nervous,

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but not the only one by far:

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I’d pity the one in charge of the technical part of our show –

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if it wasn’t me, that is.

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I must have gone over my checklists a hundred times now.

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Of course, that only served to make me even jumpier than I’ve been to begin with!

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Me fidgeting around like a nervous wreck wouldn’t help Aurora,

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and neither would it help our tech crew: Jim and Anjali.

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So I require something to calm my racing thoughts,

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somewhere to redirect the restlessness I feel

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before it even has a chance to become a panic attack.

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So I take some time to reminiscence:

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My part of the preparations for our show has been months in the making; years

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if you count all the work we’ve put into clawing our way towards this chance of a lifetime.

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Even if I would go over my pre-flight checks a hundred times more I couldn’t

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change anything.

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Much less within the scant few minutes that remain until the beginning of the New Year fireworks,

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that is for certain.

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It’s make or break from here on out...

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succeeding or failing now lies in Aurora’s paws.

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And I’m not afraid to trust her with the fate of our company – and years worth of hard work:

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She is the most gifted artist I’ve ever met;

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her drawings are...

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they somehow seamlessly blend between reality and fantasy.

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When you let your gaze wander over her works the pictures come alive –

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I swear I can see grass and trees swaying in the wind,

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can see the furs in the drawings reaching out for each other...

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hear them talking to each other.

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Sometimes I still catch myself swiveling my ears searching for the sounds of their voices, their

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laughter, their crying

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even after all the years I’ve known Aurora

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and her works. Her vivid pictures

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are also what brought the two of us together –

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it took me weeks to muster the courage to ask her if she’d like to work on a shared art project back in high school.

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I was so afraid that I had so little to offer compared to her own aptitude;

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I could tell she was sceptical when I first approached her,

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knowing me only by name and in passing by from two classes we attended together.

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She remained so until I could somehow convince her to accompany me to the computer lab

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to show her the idea I had

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painstakingly worked on

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in the hope of impressing her enough to agree joining forces with me.

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It was a simple animation project –

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what I had cobbled together felt so clumsy compared to her I hardly dared to look her in the eyes as I stammered the explanations I had rehearsed so often.

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Nothing to show but a homespun clip of thirty seconds of someone observing the crowd

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in what I made look like a cafeteria to the best of my limited drawing abilities.

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Of course I hadn’t realized

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how much personal experience had slipped into the narrative;

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not until her forefinger touched the front of my muzzle

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in a very successful attempt to shush me.

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I remember clearly how I froze completely,

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uncertain as to what she’d do next.

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I feared the worst when she pushed me aside...

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That was until her face lit up in a genuine smile –

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I was just supposed to make room in front of the keyboard!

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I didn’t know how to articulate myself in sign language back then, so she had to revert to typing.

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Aurora’s world is a silent one:

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She was born deaf-mute,

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a rare genetic defect depriving her of the ability to communicate vocally.

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“There’s simpler ways to get someone’s attention, cánido.

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Like... just saying ’hello’, you know.

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You really prepared all this just to ask me if I’d like to join you for a project in art class?”

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“Did I do something wrong?”

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“You’re funny, Alejandro!

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You’ll need to work on your drawing and social skills a bit,

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but this? I like the idea –

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a lot, in fact. So: I’m in!”

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Our first bits of conversation,

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unforgettable for me –

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and we’ve stuck together since then.

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The art class project turned into a shared hobby:

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Our acts first became popular at family celebrations;

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then once word had gotten around we choreographed parts of school celebrations, community festivals,

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small open-air events –

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the art project grew alongside the two of us.

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Our shared hobby became a shared passion,

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and when it was time to decide on our careers both of us picked paths that would allow us to turn what started as an art class

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into a profession:

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Storytelling with moving pictures.

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“How is what you do different from a movie?”

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This question is routine for me –

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telling what we’re actually doing works best by showing.

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Our methods have evolved over the years:

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What started with Aurora’s stills put into motion by yours truly

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projected on screen or the sides of buildings –

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that’s what movies do –

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has become a rather unique show.

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The narrative is no longer static,

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I’ve set up a storyboard app for Aurora to rearrange an entire collection of short clips to her liking;

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she is astonishing at reading the mood of the audience

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and adjusting the flow of a performance on the fly.

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Speaking of flying:

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It’s not “just” Aurora’s life-like art and the animated stories we turn her works into.

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Not any more – we have struggled hard to upgrade our tool set since our first shows together.

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A pair of laser projectors have replaced the LCD ones we started out with,

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and our canvas... well, it’s no longer stationary.

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It has learned to fly:

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It’s not a single big screen like in cinemas;

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it’s composed of two hundred much smaller screens in total,

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each carried by a quadcopter.

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Art and storytelling are Aurora’s speciality;

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drone swarms are mine.

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“We’re ready to go here, Alex!”

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The sudden sound of Anjali’s voice shakes me out of my reverie as my earpiece comes to life –

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she and Jim Tokage giving me their go from our launch site.

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Aurora signs her OK to me –

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tail swishing, ears flicking.

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She doesn’t need her paws to convey the message,

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her gaze only leaving the pair of laptops in front of her to catch my terse nod

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and signed ready to launch.

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In contrast to her I need to use my paws;

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as a feline she has a much greater repertoire of non-verbal expressiveness than I do as a canine;

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I need to resort to gestured sign language.

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“OK, Anjali, Jim...

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let’s get them airborne.”

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Two minutes left until the skies above us will light up –

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and we complement the sky-bound pyrotechnics with a story

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painted in light

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on a tiled canvas dancing with the imagination of the audience.

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My feline amiga has created

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a narrative around the City That Never Sleeps –

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four hundred years of our home city’s history

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condensed into fifteen minutes

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concerted with the fireworks that will illuminate the skyline over the turn of the year.

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“We’re going live!”

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With a touch of my index digit I tell the quadcopters to take flight;

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my status screen only shows three failing to comply.

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Jim, dutiful as ever,

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points out the culprits – taking care of 200 drones, each a pizza box-sized collection of electronics and mechanics

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that loves breaking down without a heads

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-up isn’t an easy job to begin with.

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“18, 76 and 173 are no-go.

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Problem?” “The control algorithms will compensate.

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We’re fine.” Actually

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I could tolerate up to ten drones failing without our flying canvas showing noticeable gaps,

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but it’s better to err on the side of caution.

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A lot is riding on this event for us –

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a lot of hard work,

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banking everything on one big contract to jumpstart our business –

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a conclusion draws near.

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I’ve had trouble sleeping lately,

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anxiety and uncertainty

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chipping away at my ability to remain calm and focused

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to the point of breaking.

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Tapping paws, wagging tail, gnawing on pencils...

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I’ve tried to hide being a nervous wreck best I could to not upset the rest of the team, but I haven’t always been successful.

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Then there’s... a soft touch on my shoulder.

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Her soft touch – reigning in my racing thoughts,

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quelling the doubts and fears

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nagging on my resolve.

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Some way she always knows when I need

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reassurance or encouragement.

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Her other paw fluidly dances through a sequence of words:

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“Xolo, don’t be so skittish; we’ll be fine.

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You’ll be fine. Let’s give the city a show to remember!”

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Xolo... her nickname for me; she even adopted a special gesture for it;

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Xoloitzcuintle is a snoutful –

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how could I be mad at her for shortening my pedigree.

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How could I be mad at her for anything?

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I couldn’t. I sign back to her:

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“¡Bien! The stage is yours, amiga!”

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Then she does something I’ve longed for –

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dreamt of – for as long as I knew her:

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Her lips plant the softest of kisses on the bridge of my snout, right where the coal-black skin of my nose

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gives way to the first vestiges of fur.

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“Thank you for this, Alex.

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For bringing us here, for giving me this.

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this.” Thirty seconds to midnight.

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Her small endearment –

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I have no idea if it was just a friendly gesture or if it was...

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more – sees my inner world burst into a colorful round dance of joy and

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giddiness ahead of the New Year fireworks.

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How in the name of all that is just and right did you not ask this amazing girl earlier

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if she wants to be more than just your colleague and co

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-founder, Xolo? I am about to remedy this biggest of my mistakes –

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not that I have been envisioning, daydreaming and wishing for this moment

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not long after I met Aurora the first time.

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I’m quite good with algorithms and structured problems.

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But when it comes to muster the courage to confess my feelings to someone?

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To find the right words to tell them

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“te quiero demasiado”?

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I’m a disaster – no, a train wreck.

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Nervous doesn’t describe properly what I am then.

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Hysterical is more to the point.

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And even thinking of trying to confess my true feelings to her

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when it’s just the two of us alone?

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No se pueden pedir peras al olmo!

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So I’ve come up with a different plan:

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I will tell her for everyone to see –

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our families, our friends.

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And I will tell her not with words, but with pictures.

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Pictures projected onto a hovering canvas

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framed by the velvet colors of a clear New York winter night,

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into a sky lit up by radiant blossoms of color:

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I wish to let her see herself as I see her –

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like the breathtakingly beautiful namesake,

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the Aurora Borealis.

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I didn’t dare ask our client for permission to alter the course of our show’s narrative exactly at midnight,

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least of all behind Aurora’s back –

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but as I explained what I’d like to add to our performance

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without letting its director know

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I was heartened to find them in full support of my request.

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Figuratively and literally,

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all it now takes is me to go through with it...

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“Ten. Nine. Eight...” The assembled crowd starts chanting as the last seconds of the old year tick by.

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I check my status displays:

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The swarm is in position,

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having ascended to its pre-set operating height 200 feet above ground.

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The canvas is in position...

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the show can begin.

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“Seven. Six. Five...” The radio channel we share with the fireworks teams

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comes to life as they radio in their own go’s:

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The first wave of aerial shells launches bound to detonate in sync with the turn of the year.

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Aurora is deeply submerged in her own world now,

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her attention solely focused on the story panel.

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Half a heartbeat before the firework’s charges paint the dark rectangle above Central Park

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in a brilliant pattern of light and fire

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her paw taps the start button.

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Our laser projectors come to life,

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their modulated light finding and lighting up our flying compound of mini-screens –

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and the story of our native city

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is told anew. Novel:

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The way you’ve chosen to tell this story – and how we put visuals on it.

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I’ve seen Aurora’s storyboards,

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and I’ve let Jim take care of supervising the drone swarm during one of our trial runs to watch the narrative unfold myself...

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but there weren’t about a hundred thousand spectators – and potentially millions more if you count TV and live streams.

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There is no audio track underlaying the narration;

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the pyrotechnics and the audience drown out any other source of sound.

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Not that Aurora would need sound to convey the what and how of her stories:

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The absence of voice and hearing has helped her imagination to picture the world as it was (or as it should be)

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in ways most others –

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including even me after years of knowing and working alongside her –

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find difficult to fathom.

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“Four. Three. Two. One!”

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As the countdown ends together with the old year

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cheers and jubilation from a hundred thousand muzzles and snouts drown out all other sounds,

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even the bursts of the fireworks above.

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Embraces, paw shakes and kisses are shared along with best wishes for a Happy New Year

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in a dozen different languages.

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Amidst the celestial spectacle

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Manhattan as it was more than four hundred years manifests:

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A wilderness untouched by Western civilization,

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inhabited by the Lenape –

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the Atlantic’s waves washing up against its shores,

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the peninsula itself covered in mixed forest

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only receding to be replaced by the occasional glade.

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As a sailing vessel appears on the distant horizon

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and its crew makes landfall

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the New Year vibe is unbroken –

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nobody seems to take note of the laser show supplementing the fireworks display!

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We’ve chosen the position of our flying canvas carefully so that it’s visible from as much of Central Park as we can feasibly cover

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with what we’ve approved with our flight corridor, and yet...

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“Alex... everything’s in order here.

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All clear on your side?”

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Jim’s voice on our shared channel –

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Aurora is unable to follow the chatter, but we have no use for any kind of last-minute panic even if it looks very much like our expectations are falling short.

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I can’t use it, that’s for sure!

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“All clear on our end.

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Let things run; only check in again if anything should actually go wrong.”

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Why isn’t anyone watching?

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This question remains unspoken – I’m

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suppressing further inquiries on the spot.

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What else are we supposed to do but deliver what we’ve been contracted to do?

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If – when – our idea, our concept

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aren’t heeded by the audience...

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what should we do?

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What should I do?

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If we fail to entertain the masses here and now as we hoped we would?

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Our business will fail along with our whole concept for today’s evening...

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make it or break it indeed!

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More ships come and go as the story unfolds further,

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trade develops and war is waged as the decades pass.

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Then the Dutch colony of New Netherland is formed,

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New Amsterdam is becoming its capital.

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A fort is constructed,

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the settlement grows into a small town.

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Decades pass as the wilderness of the peninsula slowly gives way to fields and orchards.

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Ships come and go as the settlement continues to expand...

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until one day frigates flying the Union Jack appear on the horizon:

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The British become the sovereign of the burgeoning town,

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and the American East Coast along with it.

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And still no one takes notice!

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Taking care not to draw Aurora’s attention I get up to look around:

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Everyone is mesmerized by the fireworks display,

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it seems our addition to the spectacle is getting lost in the spectacle above the park.

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There must be something to get folks to notice us...

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and there is! Sitting back down I immediately get to work;

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I’ll have to adjust our swarm’s flight patterns on the go

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(and take some liberties with the presentation), but so help me God, our chance of a lifetime

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won’t go to waste just because nobody watched.

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“Don’t be alarmed,

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I’m taking us higher.”

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Warning Jim and Anjali before taking things into my own paws seems prudent –

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the first order of business is to make Aurora’s display visible to a wider area.

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Next, while keeping the drones in range of our two projectors,

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I’ll instruct the swarm to periodically rotate left and right so that a large range of viewing angles faces optimum illumination.

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“Alex, are you sure?

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We’re not supposed to transgress our flight corridor.

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It’s called a no-fly zone for a reason!”

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I’m not a maverick by any stretch of imagination,

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but for saving our dream I’ll rather ask for forgiveness than for permission.

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“Your call, Xolo!”

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A defining moment of the city’s –

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the nation’s – history

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draws closer; I don’t have much time left to make the adjustments I have in mind.

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As the swarm ascends and adapts to my new instructions I patch into Aurora’s storyboard.

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Usually it’s her domain alone;

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now is a different situation.

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Her art prefers soft colors,

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subtle outlines.

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It’s what makes it so appealing, not only to me – but

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today we have to contend with the New Year’s eve sky as backdrop:

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We require luminosity more than anything else!

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So I add a simple contour filtering algorithm into the video stream and crank up the laser projectors to the limits of their projection output.

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On the canvas the colony continues to flourish –

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the confidence of its residents

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growing along their prosperity –

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the discontent with the order of things brought to the New World from the old continent begins to grow:

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Why should a king half a world away reap the benefits without granting adequate representation to his citizens

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who have built a new life out of nothing?

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Citizens who have left the Old World

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in search for a better life,

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the opportunity to be the masters of their destiny?

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As no concessions are forthcoming,

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discontent first becomes dissent,

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then open opposition.

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The Declaration of Independence

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leads a young nation into a war for its very existence

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against a seemingly invincible enemy.

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Just as Aurora’s narrative proceeds to our nascent nation’s cry for freedom I’m done with the alterations:

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Vibrant blue, red and white boost the outlines of the images

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dancing across the canvas easily rivalling the bright quilt of colors the pyrotechnics weave across the sky.

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I get up again, looking around to see if my impromptu work makes any difference.

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Nothing as my gaze wanders from one crowd to the next...

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Until I spot a young hare looking skyward,

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spellbound by our story –

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she tugs at her mother’s paw until the older rabbit acknowledges her daughter

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unmistakably begging

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to be carried on her shoulders.

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The pair falls silent for a few seconds;

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then their Oh!’s and Ah!’s resume,

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only not directed at the fireworks any more.

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They watch the bloody birth of a nation, a war

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led just like countless others throughout the centuries:

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Battalions marching towards each other,

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cavalry clashing into enemy formations,

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cannons unleashing deadly barrages.

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Even as their homeland burns and thousands amongst their ranks perish from hunger,

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disease and fighting the founders of our nation refuse to lay down arms –

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the wish for freedom,

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the belief in justice and equality

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stronger than anything a tyrant might do to them.

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Mother and daughter

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are not the only ones captivated by the celestial dance of pictures:

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By the point the New York enters the 19th century –

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becoming the gateway to the New World,

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growing from a town to a veritable city housing ten thousands,

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then hundreds of thousands –

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by far not the only ones.

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As the intensity of the fireworks abates our

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performance continues without intermission,

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now free to unfurl its true potential,

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just as the city whose story it tells:

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A heartbeat of steam leads New York –

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together with the entire nation –

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into the Industrial Age.

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The American Dream – the promise,

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the prospect of being the architect of one’s own fortune

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attracting millions of immigrants to fuel a rapid westbound expansion

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while the metropolitan belt on the eastern seaboard with New York at its center forms.

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As decades pass by in a matter of minutes

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more and more spectators turn their full attention to the heavenly show

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made of Aurora depictions.

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Multitudes of phones and cameras are directed towards our airborne canvas

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to commit the happening to digital in addition to live memory:

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Shouts of joy and astonishment – and lack thereof –

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go along with ups and downs of New York’s history

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on its way through the years.

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Even if sound and silence are out of reach for Aurora: Her tale

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carries much farther than the sound of words ever could,

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moving all who behold it in its own, unique way.

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She doesn’t hold back when it comes to the dark side of the American Dream:

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Unfulfilled promises of equality,

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the disowned and displaced minorities left behind –

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or worse, perished –

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in the wake of our nation’s rise to power.

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As disparate ambition and reality may be,

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and no matter how battered and broken your dreams may be by the troubles of reality:

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Don’t give up on them!

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Often all it takes to rekindle the belief in them

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is a reminder from time to time.

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I can see it in the faces of our audience –

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subtle smiles, even the occasional tear of joy –

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we have captivated the crowds!

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One dream – one Aurora and I share –

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has just come so much closer to becoming reality:

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After this show we have a viable chance to see our business

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earn our livelihoods.

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All things considered it’s make and not break!

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The tension and uncertainty of the last months finally eases,

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but just ever so slightly:

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Our narrative has almost reached the present –

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and with it the most nerve-racking event of this evening:

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To confess my true feelings for her

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to Aurora. The final sequence of our show will be an animated version of the real fireworks on this New Year’s eve:

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My contribution is a short self-made clip that adds a sequence

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to Aurora’s storyboard.

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Taking heart – and before confidence has a chance to abandon me – I add the secret end title to the playback queue

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before the narration comes to an end.

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Before I toss my earpiece aside

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I’m giving Anjali a short heads-up to take control of our drone swarm

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while Jim will be my spotter:

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It wouldn’t do if the extra scene wasn’t visible for the one it’s intended for after all!

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I haven’t interrupted Aurora while she orchestrated our performance;

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only moments after I hit the Play button

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I finally dare to check up on her.

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The show took about ten minutes in total,

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but it’s obvious that it must have been a titanic struggle for Aurora:

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She looks exhausted,

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a sorrowful frown

for one:

etched into her features; ears drooping and whiskers twitching

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the pressure she must have been feeling

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must have been even worse than for me –

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and still she had the energy to reassure the bag of nerves that is me without letting on how precarious her own situation was.

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Before she can ask how we did –

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even before she can check out by herself how the audience has received our work –

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she finds herself in a tight hug.

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My broad smile must have been a giveaway of the answer to the question she most certainly was about to ask

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for she noticeably relaxes,

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leaning into my embrace as she finally has the opportunity to catch her breath.

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I can’t keep her from witnessing our audience’s reaction with her own eyes –

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how could I ever want to –

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so I let go, gently guiding her away from the little shack housing our equipment to get a better view of the park proper.

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Not to mention our canvas

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currently showing a stylized version of the real fireworks display all around it.

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The closest group of spectators must have realized that we’re part of the eve’s act;

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applause erupts as almost instantly,

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accompanied by cheerful calls of

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Encore, encore! The hustle and bustle attracts more curious spectators who don’t hesitate to join

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in. Paw in paw we bow to our admirers,

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deeply moved by their enthusiastic acclamation.

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A few rounds of showing our gratitude later –

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noticing the fireworks picking up in intensity again for its last capper –

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we finally have our paws free to talk.

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“You lit up the park, gato!”

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“Only thanks to you, Xolo.

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I may have been busy rescheduling my script on the fly when I realized we didn’t do so hot at the start,

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but even I didn’t miss your little digression from the official flight plan.

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Nor how you boosted the light show!”

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“I may have taken some artistic liberties –

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I had to make sure your work is visible!

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Show business is no business if you’re not seen...

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I am right, no?” “You are, Xolo –

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this time, at least.”

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As my ears perk on her last remark it takes me a moment to realize she’s jesting;

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her smirk is genuine,

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one reserved for those near and dear to her.

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How I wish in this very moment that I wasn’t such a jumpy mess when it comes to personal matters!

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“Aurora – you... I wish you could have seen more of your own performance.

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And how folks reacted to it.

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It was... magic. You...

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you performed magic!

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You had them under your spell the moment we...

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we pierced the skies.”

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Waving my right paw – Aurora

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watching me with a puzzled expression –

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I give the signal to Jim to realign our flying canvas towards the two of us.

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Better me making a fool of myself than her figuring out the surprise before I have the chance to confess my feelings,

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To ask the question that's been on my mind since the day I met her.

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Overhead, our flying projection setup now rotates to face in our direction.

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As it does my self-made clip starts playing back

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– Aurora has realized immediately

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that this isn’t part of the regular schedule:

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Up on the canvas her as good as I could manage counterpart

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finds an enchanted canine

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kneeling in front of her,

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his paws signing as fast as his signing language abilities allow him to...

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“Just like you had me under your spell since we talked for the first time.

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Aurora, you have no idea how special you are...

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most of all to me.

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I’ve... just never found the courage to...

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to tell you. Who you are, what you do – it’s amazing.

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You’re amazing!” Down here

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his real counterpart is struggling for words even as New York City watches.

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“You’re smart, gifted,

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funny... beautiful. And you’ve stuck around with me, the shy nerd nobody cares about,

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partnered up with me to found a company...

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I pondered so long how to tell you this,

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how to let you understand what I see in you:

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To me you’re just like your namesake,

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the Aurora Borealis – the radiant lights

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illuminating the darkest nights.

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I need to ask you now, or I’ll regret it for the rest of my life:

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Aurora, do you want to be more than my business partner –

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do you want to be my partner in all else, too?”

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The world around us

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has fallen silent but for the noises of the fireworks;

for one:

even if our exchange uses sign language

for one:

the situation is pretty clear to the bystanders:

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A proposal is going down!

for one:

There are way more than a hundred spectators witnessing it,

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but in this very moment all I see,

for one:

hear and feel is the feline of my dreams – the love of my life.

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She regards me for a few heartbeats,

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as if seeing me for the first time –

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an eternity that lasts an instant.

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“Si, Xolo, si! I was afraid you’d never ask –

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you’re the smartest fur I know, but sometimes you’re just such an adorable fool!

for one:

Did it ever cross your mind that I stuck around just because I think the same of you?

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That I value your friendship and company

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as much as you do mine?”

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She pulls me up from where I kneel before her...

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did she just say Si?

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She must have – why else would she add

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I think the same of you?

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Unless... unless I am dreaming...

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With one of her sweet smiles adorning her face

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one of her paws caresses the side of my snout,

for one:

her touch sending a shiver up and down my spine,

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my tail starting to wag on its own.

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If this is a dream, then it is the most vivid one I’ve ever had.

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“Artistic liberties, hm?

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Let me give this story a proper ending, mi amor –

for one:

with you standing there slack-jawed like this I suppose you need proof that you’re not dreaming!”

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So this is what a lover’s embrace feels like:

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One paw supporting the back of my head,

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the other pushing on my lower back,

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pulling me close to her...

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everything starts making sense again as her lips join mine in a passionate kiss.

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I am clay in her paws,

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ready to take any form she envisions:

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Leaning back as the kiss deepens

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some distant part of my mind registers the resurging cheers of the crowd

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sharing a small part

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of my boundless joy,

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fading away into one single exclamation

for one:

of many voices as I yield to Aurora’s embrace:

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“Happy New Year!”This

for one:

was “Aurora Borealis” by Blouie the Blue Heeler,

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read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

for one:

You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.

for one:

thevoice.dog, or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

for one:

Thank you for listening

for one:

to The Voice of Dog

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About the Podcast

Show artwork for The Voice of Dog
The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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About your host

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Khaki