Hey Mom,

Crazy times here in Pawsburgh—I’ve become an ambassador to alien furballs! No worries, using my Great Dane charms to teach them about dog life. They’re learning fetch over invasion. Town’s abuzz and I’m surprisingly cool as a cucumber (though between us, still hiding under tables at thunder). Always an adventure with your Sully.

Catch you at the dinner bowl,
Splotch Deputy 🐾

In Pawsburg, where every sniff was rich with gossip and every bark a declaration of doghood, I found myself wrapped up in an affair most peculiar. On what started as just another Terrier Tuesday, the sun yawned and stretched above Newfoundland Nook, only to blink at the sight of peculiar shadows dancing upon the earth.

You’d think the biggest of dogs in town—yours truly, Sully, the splotched Great Dane—wouldn’t flinch at the unexpected. After all, my bark could shake leaves from their comfortable branches. But as I was anticipating the galloping joy over at the fields, something in the air twisted my usual grin into a cautious line.

Chowhound’s Chophouse was bustling with four-legged patrons when it happened—a gleam of silver in the sky, a spectacle no squirrel could dream of achieving. Imagine that! An alien invasion, here in Pawsburgh where the only previous menace had been that of a particularly feisty cat who sometimes wandered into Cocker Courtyard singing the blues.

Frankie, my Dogo Argentino friend with his coat of splattered ink like mine, was the first to tilt his head upward. “Do you see that?” his bark was more curious than alarmed, a chorus joined by Odee’s growlier notes.

I squinted skyward, my brave and protective instincts kicking in beneath my white and black spots. “Looks… unfriendly,” I uttered, the thought of safeguarding my human family surging to the forefront.

As it turned out, unfriendly was an understatement. These aliens—let me tell you—lacked even the basic decency to sniff one’s backside in greeting! They floated down in shiny, sphere-like crafts, right above Doggie Diner, sending a hush through the crowd that smelled mostly of bacon and anxiety.

Odee, muscles coiled, was ready to go full pitbull on them, but I raised a paw. “Hold on,” I said, the curiosity part of my personality taking the lead. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Remembering the Pawfect Training Center’s lessons on canine good manners, taught by a loving mother and mastered in the art of etiquette, I decided to extend a paw in friendship… once I found them unburdened by chicken. Chicken, my weakness—unless of course, you counted thunder, which thank dog, wasn’t on the menu today.

The alien beings didn’t speak; they communicated through a series of whirs and clicks that would play havoc with any decent dog’s ears. A bit rude, if you ask me. The message, somehow decoded by The Howling Husky Hardware Store’s newest gadget—a Universal Woofer-Whisperer—was a request, not a threat. They wanted to learn the ways of the dog.

“Teaching them Pawsburgh culture could be a hoot,” Frankie mused, as if alien invasions were just typical Tuesday talk. A few enthusiastic barks from the crowd, energized by novelty as much as by the prospect of the aliens not being hairless cats, and Pawsburgh’s Tail Wagging Committee was established.

In the following days, an exchange of wisdom ensued. We showed them Basenji Bay, where the frothy waves made even the bravest of Great Danes think twice—unless I had my blue rubber ball, then hesitations took a backseat. And they showed us a few tricks too, like hovering—a skill my thick frame found less than achievable, but amusing nonetheless.

As it turned out, these extraterrestrial creatures had a zest for adventure akin to my own. They learned to savor the sumptuous taste of grilled chicken at Canine Kabobs, delicately sidestepping my detested citrus with remarkable finesse.

Indeed, the aliens brought change, but the protectiveness I harbored for those within my enormous reach wasn’t ruffled. Pawsburgh adapted, cozily fitting this new intergalactic relationship into its heart.

The fields still know the stretch of my legs, my blue ball still endures daily tests of durability, and the alien ships? Well, they’ve become a fetching new backdrop for our town’s skyline. Yet through it all, when the roar of thunder inevitably finds me, I still seek the sturdiest of tables or the comforting arms of my beloved human.

Rest assured, this is but one tale of many woven within the paws-trotting life of Sully, defender of Pawsburg, and now, embracer of worlds beyond.

The End.