Hey Mom,

In a tail as curly as my tail, I became the canine liaison for an alien delegation in Pawsburgh today! Negotiated a peace treaty over bone broth, exchanged stories for stellar swag – all before naptime. Another day, another intergalactic handshake (with tentacles). I must be living in a furry fairy tale! 😜🐾👽

Paws and kisses,
Tadow Butt

As the first golden rays of dawn tinkled over the housetops in fair Pawsburgh, I, Shadow, opened one sleep-gummed eye. Today was not a day to squander, sleeping away the precious daylight. No, today was an adventure dressed in the shiny cloth of the unknown, though I couldn’t have fathomed just how unknown it was to be.

I slinked from my bed imperceptibly, offering my humans a wink of reprieve from waking; their schedules had no need for the mysterious delights of an early Pawsburgh morn. I stretched, my limbs spreading elegantly like the branches of a well-rooted oak, before embarking on a stealthy journey to the part of the garden where the portal to my beloved town materializes.

Once through the ivy-clad gateway, I trotted down the cobbled streets, my paw steps whispering secrets to the stones. Vizsla Valley lay draped in mist, its hallowed grounds promising frolics without end. I decided today’s gallivant would be to quaint The Canine Cafe for a drop of breakfast.

Upon arrival, I sipped my bowl of bone broth, when an eerie shimmer stirred the air. Heads lifted and ears perked up, Beagle Bagels suddenly forgotten mid-gnaw, as we all witnessed a peculiar craft descend from the benign blue with finesse and counter to general expectation of such things. It was an invasion, but not of the traditional panicky sort. No, this had the decorum of an afternoon tea intrusion.

“I say,” a cocker spaniel named Reginald opined with a tilt of his monocle, “Is that… normal?”

Dialogue, were I permitted by species, would be an exchange of bark and wuff, but we needn’t be so literal here. In my head, I had the words of my dear human, always keen on Amis: “It’s about now that I should enjoy a stiff drink; how very uncouth and no RSVP.”

As the otherworldly vessel landed with an inconspicuous poof on the Pyrenean Peak, I knew action was required. My gang and I assembled, the crème de la crème of the Pawsburgh defence squad: Coco was the brain, Beethoven the heart, and I—an admittedly swashbuckling combination of both, if only by own rationale.

“They’ve crossed the final frontier, our little, urm, haven here,” I thought, sauntering forward. “Let’s have a parley.”

We climbed the Peak, each paw step persuasive in its confidence. The craft’s hatch opened, out popped a smorgasbord of tentacles and, inexplicably, dog treats. The extraterrestrials, it turned out, had been monitoring earthly transmissions, and what more beckoning calls to action than the bark of a dog?

We were no conquerors’ prize. We were the siren call of the universal stray, and their reflections in those perfect circles atop their heads spelled it out: “We come in peace and with treats.”

Laughter would have broken the silence if dogs laughed—at least, in a human’s understanding. Instead, we wagged, we sniffed, and paws were shaken (or, well, tentacles).

The pact was simple: share in tales of Pawsburgh, and in exchange, they’d grace us with extraterrestrial trinkets. The Retriever’s Restaurant and Mutt Munchies would never be the same.

As the setting sun spilled its melancholy tincture over Hound Heights, I found myself back at The Tail Wagger’s Tailor, recounting the day’s events to awestruck pups. I ended the tale with a wink and a lick of peanut butter, my extraordinary everyday nestled again beneath a veil of calm.

“An alien invasion,” I mused to Cloe who wore a knowing grin, “is but a romp in the park. Until tomorrow’s escapades, may your dreams be filled with sniffs and quirks of the finest kind.”

The End.

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