Hey Keeper of Treats 🍖,
U won’t believe the tail! While you were off in dreamland, I led the midnight defense against an alien invasion right here in Pawsburgh! 🛸💫 We showed those extraterrestrial critters that nothing beats a dog with a squeaky hedgehog and a pack of paladins with paws. Now, the only stars I’m chasing are the ones on my victory nap blanket. 🌟😴 Keep the treats coming; a hero’s work is never done! 🐾
Luv, Ruby the Intergalactic Tail-Wagger 🚀

Listen to the story here

In the wee hours, when the Keeper of Treats blissfully snores, untroubled by the riddles of her spreadsheets, I, Ruby, with brindle shades that mimic the dark, quietly abscond through the flap of liberation to the enchanting avenues of Pawsburgh. Tonight was different, though—an electric frisson in the air set the fine hairs along my spine a-tingle as I trotted towards Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, my second home. Little did I know, my beloved turf was about to become an impromptu battlefield.

Glancing up, I spotted a peculiar flickering among the constellations—a mischief-maker that would make Mr. Whisker-Twitch’s antics look nun-like. I halted, amber optics wide, as a spaceship the size of Fido’s Feast warped into view, casting a sterile glow upon the Chestnut Cocker Courtyard.

“You know,” I remarked to nobody in particular, “this really throws a wrench into my evening constitutional.”

Sir Chatterbeak flapped beside me, his feathers ruffled in indignation. “Invasion,” he squawked, “from the unscratchable beyond!”

Duchess Gwendolyn loomed out of the gloom, her silhouette a stark contrast against the neon ship’s underbelly. “I say we give these extraterrestrial upstarts a proper Pawsburgh welcome,” she declared, a not-so-subtle growl underpinning her words.

Our newfound foe seemed oblivious to the subtle social cues of growling Great Danes, so I fetched my squeaky hedgehog from the depths of the Howling Husky Hardware Store, eyes narrowed in a strategy of both wile and wag—the interstellar guests were not to be underestimated, much like a deeply buried bone.

As the interlopers descended with a finesse only a runaway shopping cart could admire, we prepared our arsenal. Sir Chatterbeak dive-bombed the antennae with dogged (forgive the pun) determination while I chomped my hedgehog, each squeak a declaration of Earthly resolve. Duchess Gwendolyn galloped around in intimidating circles, her paws thundering like drumrolls. Mr. Whisker-Twitch, the scoundrel, hoarded nuts with the frenzy of a tax collector, lobbing them with sniper precision.

Though alien tactic and technology were baffling beyond any puzzle toy, they were clearly unversed in the rules of Pawsburgh: one, never interrupt a dog mid-squeak and two, always respect the Duchess. As the bombardment of nuts reached its crescendo and the clamor of squeaks crescendoed to a symphony, the visitors blinked their weepy cosmic eyes (six per face, I’ll have you know), and with a sound resembling a disgruntled dishwasher, their ship began to ascend.

“Well, that wasn’t very neighborly,” I chuffed as the ship shrunk away to nothing. “Didn’t even stay for a peanut butter canapé.”

The Keeper of Treats would never believe the tale—how her darling Ruby defended Pawsburgh (not that I’d have the chance to tell her, in a language other than tail wags). Returning home with a bit of stardust in my coat, a twinkle in my eye, and my trusty hedgehog bunker-busted to squeaky high heavens, I knew that even in the face of intergalactic oddities, Pawsburgh and all its four-legged denizens would remain resolute.

After all, as an enigmatic Boxer/Rottweiler with the spirit of ten, an aversion to citrus, and a place in my heart for the Keeper of Treats, no invader can ever match wits with a town run by the paws and claws of the world’s most adventurous canines. Our tails may wag, but our resolve never wavers.

The End.

Share This Story: