“Hey hooman! Remember when I saved Spencerville from slimy space squids with burps, thanks to Lulu’s burrito? Just a normal day, right? Next time, though, more burgers, less carrots. Keep the stout incoming. Your world-saving, belching Bulldog, Tankers 🚀🐶🍔”

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Well, the way I remember, there I was, just sipping away at that locally sourced, organic, microbrewed stout, enjoying the old sunset over Spencerville, when I noticed this strange whizzing sound. Pop the cap off another, I thought it was the beer talking, you know? Then I felt Tank nudge my leg, and something about that brindle brow had shifted. Now, I knew that furrow. It’s the ‘We’ve-got-an-alien-invasion-on-our-hands-and-you’re-on-your-own’ sort of look.

No joke, this crimson spaceship lands right smack in the middle of Fawn Cream Maltese Meadow. Out pop these green, lanky things, all goggle-eyed and squiggly. Like squids on lollipops, only worse. I’d drained my drink but my head was still sober enough to think, “Space squids. Great. Just what we need.”

Without missing a beat, Tank was on his feet, a growl inching past his smoky jowls, and I knew it was game time. Bulldogs don’t take alien invasions sitting down, unless there’s a burger involved, so we made the old Spencerville dash straight to the Dapper Dog Salon. I’m thinking, “Couldn’t the aliens have landed at Labradoodle Lake?” Yet, I remember old Tank’s face lit up like Christmas on seeing the crimson ship on the meadow, that was his playground.

In the midst of this alien hullabaloo, Lulu rolls in. And lucky for us, she just made a pit stop at Pup’n’ Go Taco Joint and snagged one of their ‘Galaxy Burritos’. Don’t ask what’s in them, some concoction that Tank refused to eat all because they snuck carrots in them once. Once. But Lulu, bless her retriever heart, sneakily slips it into Tank’s mouth as soon as she heard about the whole out-of-this world invasion.

I’ll tell you those were the most valuable burps I’ve heard because next thing I know, the aliens were keeled over like octopi on a fisherman’s deck. Turns out, juicy Tank-belches have some kind of otherworldly chemical reaction with extraterrestrials. You’d think they’d teach you that in science class, but no.

Spencerville’s rep was preserved, again, and good riddance to those aliens. After that, we made a new rule: No more carrots in the food, but maybe stick to more burgers.

I can’t say if Tank’s ready for the next Earth-saving mission. Yet, something tells me he’ll ace it, for a pint of stout and a slice of Spencerville’s best hamburger. ‘Cause that’s just how life goes in this pet paradise. You live. You bark. You save the world one belch at a time.

The End.

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