“Hey, it’s Rascal P! Was rudely awakened by the Frenchie Foghorn for an alien invasion. Yep, from planet Playfulness! Led the pack to protect Pawsburg and chased those wagging invaders back to their galaxy. Who knew squeaky balls could repel aliens? Just another doggone day in my world. Tired and proud. Over and out. – RP”

Listen to the story here

The sudden, ear-splitting BORFT of the Frenchie Foghorn – the early warning system co-opted from a forgotten bulldog’s snore – shook me from my slumber. It was unmistakable. I bolted upright on my doggie bed, mismatched ears on high alert. The rest of Pawsburg was following suit – I could see the blinking lights from the residences of Canine Corner, hounds and terriers scampering out of their den.

“Darn it, now? I was just about to catch that chicken,” I mumbled to myself, the leftover taste of a dream-feast still savory on my tongue. With practiced urgency, I leap out of my den, determined as ever, clutching my beloved squeaky ball. What was an alien invasion without my saucer-like sidekick, after all?

Barking orders with the authority of a seasoned commander, I rallied my bark-troops at the Corgi Castle’s vilification-ready turret. Swift, succinct, like I’d run this drill a hundred times. Except, it was actually happening. We had an inbound of off-worlders, a phrase I never imagined I’d use.

“Fleabags to the front,” I instructed the crowd, one ear standing straight with determination, the other flop hiding my trepidation. From the corner of my eyes, I saw the Chow Hound Café and Pup-tastic Pizza lighting up their ‘All Paws on Deck’ neon signs, stepping up as makeshift operation centers. An alien invasion is, after all, no excuse for bad service.

In what felt like no time, reinforcements from the White Westie Woods and Fawn Cream Maltese Meadows poured in, each with a growl as fierce as their loyalty. We were a motley crew of bravery and absurdity, an unconventional regiment under an improbably urgent circumstance, armed with chew toys and biscuits. I mean, what do you expect, they don’t exactly carry dog-sized photon blasters in The Groom Room or The Dapper Dog Salon.

We stood our ground when they came, these So-called ‘Intruders’ not aliens, but pups from planet Playfulness aiming to take over, assuming we’d fall over ourselves at the first wag of a strange intergalactic tail. The nerve, right?

Boy, were they in for a surprise. I won’t bore you with the details, suffice it to say, there’s nothing like a united doggdom to send play invaders back home with their tails between their legs. And as always, when the sun finally rose, none of our humans were the wiser. They just found their pets a little extra tired that morning, napping soundly, dreaming of unsung victories and extraterrestrial failures.

Such is a day in the life of Rascal P, protector of Pawsburg, commander of the mutt brigade, and, not to forget, the undefeated world champion of squeaky ball fetch – in this town, in this galaxy or, as I now know, any other.

The End.

Share This Story: