Hey Mom,

Just saved Spencerville from an alien standoff with my canine crew. We made our barks count and showed the sky who’s boss – no biggie. Spencerville stands strong because this brindle guardian’s got it all under control. Give my belly rubs a raincheck; duty called, and your boy Clovie answered with a howl!

Tail wags and epic tales,
Clovie 🐾✨

The sun crested over the homespun utopia of Spencerville like a warm smile, its golden beams chasing away the last of the night’s whispers. That’s how our tale begins, fellow sniffers and diggers, with me, Clovis, giving a sloppy yawning salute to the dawn. Why, you might ask, do I fancy myself the appointed guardian of this sleepy little hamlet, this town where the leash is long and the hearts, fuller still? Well, I’d like to think that my broad brindle back and keen eyes mean something more than just being a pretty face at the local parks.

“Morning, Marbles!” That’s Gilbert, my mustachioed co-guardian. We don’t really do ranks here, but if we did, he’d be right beside me—calling me Marbles on account of my uniquely patterned coat.

“Morning, G.” I volley back, my tail mastering the art of the wag with quiet enthusiasm. Zelda isn’t far behind, her tri-color coat shimmering as though she walked straight through a prism every morning.

We take our usual route, zigzagging past Maltese Meadow—nothing unusual, just the neighborhood Boxer chasing his own ridiculous tail, and then we strut down to the wharf where Black Bulldog Bay wraps the town in its briny embrace.

Only today, today there’s something peculiar. Zelda stops mid-sniff, one paw raised, ears perked up. Gilbert tightens his jowls with concern, and I… well, I feel it too. A strange hum vibrating through my paws, tugging at my bones like a puppy at a trouser leg. Our eyes lock onto the sky, usually a canvas of uninterrupted blue, now hosting an anomaly that had ears pricking up Spencerville-wide—a sleek, metallic disc glinting ominously, disrupting our idyllic normalcy.

Aliens. Here, in Spencerville. The thought is as ludicrous as a cat that barks, yet there it is—a flying menace to our meticulous mapped existence.

“What do we do, Clovis? Do we bark at it? I mean, that’s our go-to move,” whispers Gilbert, betraying a whiff of vulnerability beneath his usual pluck.

“Barking at the sky’s about as useful as trying to outrun your own shadow,” I quip, yet the veneer of humor does little to mask the tightening coil of concern. This was a job for more than just barks.

We adjourn to Tail Wagger’s Tailor, the unofficial Spencerville huddle spot, where the air is thick with speculation and the scent of freshly sown dog beds. Every sniffer and tail in town is there, their worry thick enough to chew.

“We stick together,” I announce, feeling the weight of my guardian title. “We don’t know if they’re friend or foe, but Spencerville protects its own.”

And protect we did. We made a game of it, our very lives a chess board of calculated moves wisely played. We waited. We watched. We made sure every pup knew that no matter the climes, Spencerville stood for its residents—whether four-pawed or otherwise.

Days lapsed into nights and back into days. The invaders seemed content to hover, their intentions cryptic, their silence cold as a nose without a home. We adapted like we always do because that’s life, isn’t it? A series of fetch games where sometimes you’re chasing your own tail and other times, you’re barking at the stars.

But here’s the kicker, the slice of marrow in the bone—curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was about to make heroes out of dogs. On the seventh day, with the collective courage of a thousand thumping tails, we unfurled our banner of bravery and marched to the meadow, the citadel of our stand-off. And there, beneath that silent disc, with hearts pounding, we howled—our anthem, our plea, our voice.

The disc blinked once, twice, and with a whoosh like a million canine whistles, it was gone.

Was it our howl? The mystery of it all made me think of that comfy spot on the porch, where the quiet ponderings of the universe can be mulled over a good chew toy. We might never know why they came, why they left, but they’d given us something invaluable—an unshaken belief in the strength of our pack and the power of our collective bark.

In Spencerville, the tale of the day the sky was invaded and the dogs stood united was woven into our legacy. It was a story told in passing, a reminder that home isn’t just where you lay your head; it’s where you stand your ground.

And so, life went on, the memory of metallic intruders fading like a dream upon waking. We returned to the joys of slobber-covered tennis balls, the all-you-can-eat buffet at Chow Down Chow Chow, and the warm embrace of sun-soaked naps. And as I lay there in my backyard—my own personal paradise—I winked at the sky, a brindle guardian challenging the cosmos with heart unfurled and courage undeterred.

The End.