Far, far away—so far that Earth was just a tiny blue marble in the sky—there was a galaxy made of cotton candy clouds and rivers that giggled when you jumped in them. This was the home of Boris, a boy with hair as wild as a comet’s tail and shoes that always untied themselves, no matter how many times he double-knotted them.

One morning, Boris woke up to the smell of burnt toast (even though no one had made any toast) and the sound of a tiny *ping!*—like a spoon tapping a glass star. He rubbed his eyes and saw his bedroom wall glowing. A note, sticky like a lollipop left in the sun, was stuck to it. It read:

"Dear Boris,
The Great Nebula Pet Show is today! Bring your bravest self. P.S. No robots allowed (last year’s incident was a *disaster*).
—The Galaxy Mayor"

Boris’s stomach did a somersault. He loved animals—especially the fluffy, the squeaky, and the ones that left glittery paw prints. But there was one problem: every time he saw a dog, a cat, or even a hamster, his knees turned to jelly, his tongue tied itself into a knot, and he hid behind the nearest asteroid. *Not exactly brave*, he thought, kicking a pebble that bounced off his toe with a *boing!*.

"I can’t go," Boris muttered, his voice muffled by the hood of his spacesuit (which he’d put on backward, just in case). But then he smelled something wonderful—like warm cookies and stardust—and heard a *squelch-squelch* behind him. It was his best friend, Glorb, a blobby alien with three eyes and a habit of leaving puddles of jelly wherever he sat.

"You’re wearing your suit inside out," Glorb said, poking Boris’s sleeve. "Also, I brought snacks." He held out a bag of something that looked like purple popcorn but smelled like bubblegum and old socks. Boris took a handful. *Crunch!* It tasted like rainbow lightning. "We *have* to go to the pet show," Glorb said, his middle eye blinking excitedly. "I heard there’s a cat that sings opera!"

Boris’s heart pounded like a drum made of thunder. But then he remembered the time Glorb had gotten stuck in a black hole (it was only for five minutes, but still) and how Boris had helped him out. *Maybe I can be brave for Glorb*, he thought. He took a deep breath, straightened his backward spacesuit, and said, "Okay. But if I see a dog, I’m hiding behind *you*."

The pet show was held on a planet made entirely of trampolines. *Boing! Boing!* Boris and Glorb bounced their way to the entrance, where a sign read: "Welcome, Brave Hearts!". The air smelled like fresh crayons and something faintly like wet dog (uh-oh). Around them, aliens of all shapes and sizes paraded their pets: a six-legged puppy with a collar that played music, a cat wearing tiny astronaut boots, and a hamster driving a miniature spaceship. *Vroom-vroom!*

Boris’s hands felt clammy, like he’d dipped them in space soup. Then—*gasp!*—he saw it. A huge, fluffy dog with ears like satellite dishes trotted toward him, its tail wagging like a windshield wiper in a storm. *Thump-thump-thump!* Boris’s heart raced. He turned to run, but his shoelaces (which had untied themselves *again*) tangled around his ankles. *Trip!* Down he went, right into a pile of something squishy and warm. *Splat!*

"Are you okay?" a voice rumbled. Boris looked up. The dog was licking his face with a tongue as rough as sandpaper but somehow also as gentle as a feather. It smelled like sunshine and bacon. Boris froze. Then—*giggle*—he laughed. The dog’s tail wagged even harder, and its ears flopped like noodles in a pot. "You’re… not scary," Boris whispered. The dog woofed softly, as if to say, "Of course not! I’m just a big goofball."

From that moment on, Boris didn’t hide. He petted the singing cat (who meowed off-key but with great enthusiasm), fed the hamster a piece of rainbow popcorn (*nom-nom!*), and even let the six-legged puppy lick his cheek. Glorb cheered, his jelly body wobbling with excitement. "You’re the bravest human I know!" he said, handing Boris another handful of snacks.

At the end of the day, the Galaxy Mayor handed out medals. Boris’s was shaped like a paw print and smelled like vanilla ice cream. As he bounced home with Glorb, the stars twinkling like fireflies, he realized something: courage wasn’t about not being afraid. It was about trying anyway—even if your knees wobbled and your shoelaces betrayed you. And sometimes, the scariest things turned out to be the best friends of all.

The next morning, Boris woke up to the smell of *real* burnt toast (this time, he’d made it himself) and the sound of a happy *woof!* under his bed. He grinned. "Good morning, Goofball," he said, scratching the dog’s ears. *Life in the galaxy was pretty great.*