Hey there, buckle up for a pawsome tale from Pawsburgh! I, Charlie a.k.a. the Cream of Afghan, teamed up with Luna and Max to unravel a UFO mystery. We sniffed out interstellar intrigue, conversed with an extraterrestrial stray, and kept our tails wagging. Never a dull moment when alien antics land in your backyard, right? 🐾🛸 The saga continues… Stay tuned!

Woofs & Wags,
Charlie

Listen to the story here

Well now, I reckon you’d like to take a sneak peek into a day of my life, maybe share a whim or feel a tickle in that curious brain o’ yours. You know me, I’m Charlie, though around here they call me the Cream of Afghan, don’t they? But hush, let’s cut to the chase – a tale that might just curdle your whiskers and have you sniffin’ around for truths like a bloodhound on a mission.

It was a regular daybreak when I lifted my nose from my dreams and smelled somethin’ peculiar in the air, a scent that weren’t quite of this world or Pawsburgh, I reckon. I sauntered past Hound Heights with that mystery twistin’ my ears and fluffin’ my coat, till I landed smack in the middle of Rottweiler Ridge.

My gal Luna, she’s sharp as a tack, was there with Max, who’s got more mischief in his pinky paw than a squirrel in a nut factory. “Charlie, d’ya feel that?” Luna asked, every fiber of her bein’ quivering like saplings in a storm.

“So I ain’t the only one gettin’ the whiff of this conundrum,” I said. “Let’s hoof it over to Opal Pomeranian Park. Got a felin’ that’s where the trail heats up.”

So we trot, right as the park glistens under the curlin’ fog, and there we see it—somethin’ hoverin’ over the duck pond, smooth circular, and shinier than a silver dinner platter. My fur stands straight up, and even the hedgehogs in my mouth wouldn’t have squeaked if I’d bitten ’em.

Would ya believe it if I said it was a flyin’ saucer, in the dog-forsaken Pawsburgh?

Next thing, we’re pad-ninjas, skulkin’ through the park, eyes peeled like the citrus I detest, watching that hunk of mysteries spin closer. Don’t mind tellin’ you my heart was beatin’ louder than a drum at the Canine Kabobs’ opening night.

But then—crash! Down came a light, and out stepped a creature, gangly and gray, like no Beagle or Boxer I’d seen, with orbs for eyes that could make the moon blush with shame. And it squawked somethin’ that would turn you tail and run, only we didn’t. ‘Cause that’s not what we do in Pawsburgh.

We mutter ‘ween ourselves and decide to put our noses to the ground. Luna barks some alien talk, and would you credit, that thing stops hollerin’ and blinks quizzical, like a cat in a bathtub.

Days pass as we’re investigatin’, feastin’ at the Wagging Whisk to keep our spirits up (I’ll take the roasted chicken, mind you); but let me tell you, no amount of doggy dinin’ eases the puzzlement of what we saw.

We dug through Best in Show Photography for clues, and trounced ’round The Pawfect Training Center for hidin’ spots or signs of another visit. All the while, with each thunder rumble, I felt a shiver creep through my long coat, and I yearned for the comforting scratch behind the ears from my human.

It turns out, them flyin’ saucers were as real as the tail waggin’ behind you, comin’ and goin’ with intentions as obscure as a frog’s thought bubbles. And that alien? Just a poor stray, lost in dimensions, hankerin’ for home—the universal yowl shared among the cosmic and the common dog.

So when you tuck in tonight and hear me howlin’ at the unseen, just reckon that it might not be for naught. ‘Cause here in Pawsburgh, the X-files are a pile of leaves waitin’ to be shuffled, and I’m the hound to tell the tale, one bark at a time.

The End.

Share This Story: