Hey fam, it’s your friendly neighborhood tail-wagger, Jack. Ruined my nap to save Pawsburg from slimy invaders using tennis balls and Nerf guns. Never knew my toy stash would come in handy this way. Anyway, all’s well now. Fetch you later. – Captain Barkington

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Pawsburg: who among us could fail to recognize the secret haven of our comical, clever and canine companions? Under our noses and behind our backs, these wild adventurers disappeared into its bustling streets. I suppose it could be said that, at least for our dear Jack, Pawsburg was the canvas on which he painted his greatest adventures.

One day, to the surprise of the locals, the usual brightness of Pawsburg waned, replaced by an eerie, revolting shade of green. It was then that I, narrating the tale from my beloved Jack’s perspective, realised something was haystackingly wrong. The generally jubilant Jack was moody, his normal eagerness replaced with apprehension. It was a stark, unspoken reminder of that ominous green hue enveloping Pawsburg.

Gathering my courage, assisted by the comforting presence of my loyal gang, with elderly buff Grandpa Dave and the sleek, swift Marlon at my side and Mom trailing behind us, I set off to conquer, to defend the once radiant Pawsburg from these unknown aliens.

Despite my natural disdain for loud noises, the banging and tremors that caused Pawsburg to shake were met with mute acceptance. The tennis ball, my beloved tool for amusement, now served as a guiding beacon against the dreary green backdrop. We hurried through Cream Maltese Meadow, up Lower Silver Siberian Summit, and descended upon Bulldog Bay, wary eyes scanning for enemy movement.

It was in the Chow Hound Café, of all places, a site for delightfully melancholic memories of consuming cheese spaghetti and chicken, that we found them. Aliens! They were bizarre creatures, green and slimy, with a look on their faces resembling my own when offered pickles and carrots. Their ceaseless gabbering was pierced by the odd sound that, to my horror, seemed a dreadful parody of my favorite squeaky ball’s tune. In fear and anger, and perhaps, a tinge of hurt pride, I barked out the orders. Charge!

With incredible speed, Gigi, always nimble by dog standards, darted towards the Tail Wagger’s Tailor and returned with a pile of brilliantly coloured tennis balls. At my signal, the balls fired out, assisted by the Nerf guns I’d grown so attached to back on Earth. The aliens recoiled, their squeals of surprise replaced by cries of fear, their green bodies retreating from us, from Pawsburg.

The tennis ball barrage continued, our resolute resistance slowly simmering down the invaders’ courage. Bonked by the balls, the aliens scampered around. Back and forth, across the Fetching Deli, in and out of The Barking Boutique before they finally disappeared into the eerie ponderosity of space, leaving Pawsburg in peace.

I can’t say that I ever developed a liking for swimming, but the round of cheers and moments of splashing joy at Bulldog Bay were truly intoxicating. We had successfully protected our haven, and Pawsburg was ours once again. We reveled in the alleyways, basking in yesteryear’s glory and today’s victory, forever to be immortalised as the dogs who saved Pawsburg.

The End.

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