He was born on January 14th, seven days off from David Bowie's own birthday, which explains a great deal. The eyes did the rest — pale, ice-lit, the kind of stare that seems to be assessing you across several centuries at once. Ziggy Stardust touched down on the property May 31st, 2017, and made it clear within the hour that he had not come to blend in. He'd come to be worshipped, or at minimum, catered to.

He is, by blood, three working breeds stitched into one creature: Great Pyrenees patience, Border Collie focus, Australian Shepherd drive — all filtered through a mind that answers to no one's schedule but his own, and is, frankly, flaky about the whole arrangement. He hears every word spoken to him. Understands all of it. Responds to the fraction he's decided has earned a reply. The rest is simply beneath comment.

The Hunter

Strip away the eyeliner and there is a body count underneath that would make a professional exterminator nervous. Possums, squirrels, snakes — his ground, his kills, no apologies issued. He is warm and easy with anything that offers him warmth in return. He is a considerably different animal toward anything that runs.

Sky-Sick

There's a wound in Ziggy that no glam-rock swagger quite covers: he was born on the wrong side of the ground. He watches birds the way old vampires are said to watch the living — fixed, aching, a little starved. Once, when he slipped his lead and vanished into the woods after a herd of deer, his dad found him. What his dad found wasn't a dog chasing a quarry. He was hopping — mid-stride, matching them, moving like something that had briefly forgotten it wasn't one of them. It wasn't a hunt. It looked like a homecoming that didn't belong to him, and he took it anyway.

The Barber Problem

There is exactly one sound that shatters the cosmic composure on contact: clippers. The instant they appear, the Starman evacuates the building. Full sprint, no negotiation, straight to the safe space, and the cosmos help anyone standing between him and the door. This is not theater. Everyone here has learned to respect it as fact.

Maus

Ziggy had a brother. Maus has crossed the Rainbow Bridge now, and the whole place still feels his absence — but it's Ziggy who carries it differently, in a way no one's quite found the words for. The persona has a line for everything else. It doesn't have one for this. He's allowed to keep it that way.

"I heard what you said. I just don't care." — Ziggy, to almost everyone, almost always