Hey Mom,

Guess what? I became the unofficial ambassador of Spencerville today when an alien bulldog (looked a lot like me!) landed. We nearly had an intergalactic paw-nic, but I kept the peace with a sniff and our favorite goldfish crackers. All’s well, ended with extra yum at Pup-Tastic Pizza. Spencerville’s charm is now cosmic legend!

Nuzzles and tail wags,
Kirby

Listen to the story here

Ah, dear friends, it was on a day most peculiar that our Spencerville, jewel of the afterlife for devoted pets, found itself facing an unexpected rendezvous with the extraterrestrial. I, Kirby, your intrepid English Bulldog, am most accustomed to the leisurely pursuits here—naps in the noontide sun and rollicking with my comrades at the park. But on this day, the skies of Shepherd Skyline were not graced with the ordinary hues of paradise. Nay, they were daubed with the uncanny light of alien mischief.

I had wandered, with my regal and seldom pristine coat, down to The Tail Wagger’s Tailor for a fitting. A veritable gala awaited me, and one cannot attend such events without the proper attire—even in a town as agreeably casual as Spencerville. Upon stepping out, snout first into fresh air, that’s when I saw it. A craft of most odd configuration, humming a tune that made the fur on my nape stand on end—a tune decidedly off-key to our usual symphonies of joyful yaps and carefree whistles.

With the quiet dignity that only my breed masters, and a hint of that playful stubbornness you all have grown to adore, I galumphed closer to the spectacle hovering above Pug Palace, pausing only to burrow my favorite purple dinosaur toy securely in the folds of my jowls. Security, you must understand, is key in uncertain times.

My fellow Spencerville residents had already gathered, a mosaic of paws and whiskers, tails lowered to half-mast and ears perked in twin peaks of alert. The crown of our assembly, a sly Persian cat, was first to break the silence with a hiss. “Galactic visitors,” she murmured, “I read of such once in a life past.”

The craft, shiny as a well-tended bowl and large as Western Husky Hill itself, began to lower. Dogs of every size and shape bristled, and several cats took to the trees, their postures exuding a nonchalance betrayed only by the twitching in their tails.

As the craft descended, a hatch opened like the very jaws of destiny, and out trotted—oh, you would scarce believe it—not a being of eyes bulging and skin of green, but rather a most charming bulldog. And though I wear my coat of modesty as fitting for any esteemed quadruped, I daresay he bore a striking resemblance to yours truly.

“Kirby!” he barked. “I, your intergalactic cousin, come in peace. We’ve watched Spencerville, this haven of delight, and pleasantries.”

The assembly wagged a cautious welcome, turning to me for a sign. With a gravitas one summons only in moments of extreme historicity, and with a goldfish cracker induced courage, I waddled forth.

I greeted him with the customary sniff, protocol dictating hospitality even in the face of alien incursion. “Cousin, we are a simple folk here, biding our time with fun and frolic,” I declared. “But if it is peace you bring, then we shall welcome you to our BBQs and parks, and perhaps even share the vaunted crunch of our goldfish crackers.”

The alien Kirby nodded, “We seek only to learn the art of Spencerville serenity.”

In time, the skies cleared, and the alien craft took its ilk back to the stars. We’d adapted, you see, and the invasion proved but a mere opportunity for interstellar exchange. Pup-Tastic Pizza never tasted so good, beneath the stars once again at peace, as if the universe itself had taken a cue from the cozy corners of our Pug Palace and Shepherd Skyline.

As I nestled in my bed that eve, the purple dinosaur toy by my side, I mused upon the day’s fantastical happenings. “Ah, Spencerville,” I whispered to no one in particular, “may your tales of loyalty and delight echo through the cosmos.”

We dogs, after all, are creatures of simple pleasures and boundless love. Even in the event of alien encounters and celestial ballets, we remain staunch stewards of Spencerville—unalterable in our habits, heroes of our own saga, and connoisseurs of the peaceful jubilee that is existence in this nearly perfect place. So here I rest, Kirby the Bulldog, ever ready for the next adventure, with my paw pressed firm on the pulse of this quaint dog’s tale.

The End.