Hey Mom,

You would not BELIEVE the day I’ve had. Turned out your average Bella went full General Patton as alien tourists fancied a peek at Spencerville! 😲 Convinced cats to cooperate (I deserve a medal 🏅), led the critter coalition, and we sent those star-hoppers packing without soiling a single fur. All’s well and Tigger’s safe. Guess I’m more of a celestial shepherd than a backyard snoozer. Sweet dreams moght be of the cosmos tonight. 🌠🐕

Bear hugs, Bella Boo Bear 🐾✨

I reckon it was a day like no other in the quaint town of Spencerville – and I mean to say, it would have rattled the collars off any dignified canine within yapping distance. Amongst all us four-legged gentry that roamed the pristine neighborhoods with a tale or two to swap, the day the invaders come from beyond the stars etched itself into the bark of our collective memory.

It started out ordinary enough, with me, Bella, giving chase to them elusive shadows in my backyard, where the grass knows the touch of my industrious paws all too well. My dear companion Tigger lay sun-soaking by my side, its plush coat warm from the kiss of the morning rays. Now, don’t presume it was idle lounging, no sir. A dog’s got to keep her senses sharp, akin to waiting for that apple to tumble right out the fruit basket, so you could pounce at the precise moment.

The first sign of that interstellar hullabaloo was when the sun got ambushed, sudden-like, by a shadow as had no right to be cast by bird nor cloud. I opened one eye, then the other, and felt my fur stand on end as what could only be described as a sizable contraption of a celestial nature hovered overhead. “Dog my cats!” I might have exclaimed had the cat lot of Spencerville not granted me that eye-roll they save for moments of canine melodrama.

I roused from my resting with Tigger tight in my maw – there were times for toys and times for takin’ action, and this was surely the latter. I hightailed it through the streets, weaving through legs at The Bone Appetit and dodgin’ paws at Paws-A-Latte. Each shop and eatery buzzed with the whispers of the extraterrestrial incursion. Red Beagle Beach had critters scurrying, and Black Bulldog Bay saw a froth that wasn’t from no ocean churn, no ma’am.

“You reckon they’re here to rustle us up?” asked a pug with a tremble in his jowls as we gathered at the Happy Hounds Dog Walking, now less walk and more fret.

“Seems likely,” I mused. “Or maybe they’s just passin’ through, fancyin’ a nibble at The Fetching Deli. I hear they got viands now that’d tempt an alien’s appetite.” I was playin’ the wit – truth be told, my spine tingled with the notion of our homes bein’ trampled by otherworldly boot-heels.

This motley crew of mine – some brave, few brainy, all barkin’ – needed a lead, and spite my diminutive stature and the disdainful buzzin’ ’round my ears, I felt the spirit of a general creep into my paws. “Folks,” I addressed the anxious assembly, “we might be of the fur-bearing kind, and loyalty to our humans might be our natural inklin’, but this is our Spencerville. We got to rise like the kibble ain’t comin’, to protect the bond that tethers us to them we’ve loved. So let’s show them star-gadin’ intruders a tailspin they won’t forget.”

We rallied, we strategized. I found common ground with the reluctant cats, the parakeets squawked reconnaissance, and even the bunnies committed their underground networks to our cause. Harmony, ’twas a sight. And when the moment come to face our celestial adversaries, we charged with the ferocity of sirens wailin’ before the vet’s door.

“We ain’t no fetchin’ easy targets!” I yelped as we swarmed ’round ’em, each critter playin’ its part. The aliens, confused by our bravado and unity, soon saw the futility of messin’ with Spencerville’s finest.

To this very day, the tale’s told how we stood snout to antenna against the unknown, how bellies used to warmth and full food bowls showed the mettle of their lineage. And when the sun set on that eventful scrimmage, I returned to my backyard with Tigger in tow, lookin’ to the stars not with fear, but with a sense of adventure, only half-hoping they’d dare again, just for the thrill of the chase and the yarn it would spin.

The End.