Hey Dad,

You won’t believe the night! Me and the gang silenced the sea, hosted an unexpected doggy rave with a UFO at Dapper Dog Salon, and returned an extraterrestrial Croc to the cosmos. Pawsburgh might need its own sci-fi series now! Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs (or aliens) bite!

Croc Commander Oscar 🐾👽🚀

Oh, you know me, I’m Oscar. If you’ve ever strolled through the enchanted lanes of Pawsburgh at the odd hour when the moon dips its toes in twilight’s pond, you’d have seen me. The Border Collie mix with the hypnotic fur pattern that people say looks like wear and tear on a well-loved tuxedo. It’s an aesthetic.

So there I was, meandering through the mystical streets with my well-worn Croc securely gripped between my eager teeth. The night was perfect for something uncanny, and Pawsburgh was ripe with that vibe. Not ‘E.T. phone home’ strange, but ‘why are the cats conspiring’ kind of whacky.

Max and Ollie tagged along, their tails a metronome set to the score of our nightly capers. Max had that wiry zest of a terrier who’d mistaken an espresso shot for his water bowl, while Ollie… well, Ollie was simply on planet Beagle, where life’s giant buffet sneaks up on you in the form of belly rubs and scattered treats.

Our adventure kicked off at Basenji Bay, where the waves lapped secrets onto the shore only dogs can hear. Max suggested a game of “Who Can Bark the Loudest at the Ocean,” and through the cacophony, a sudden silence hit us. I mean it—and as everyone knows, I’m not dramatic—like, the ocean clicked ‘mute’.

“Guys, did we just… quiet the sea?” Ollie’s beady eyes grew rounder, and Max let out a “harumph” as we trotted onto Pointer Pier. That’s when the lights started swirling above The Dapper Dog Salon. Not your average, run-of-the-stylist disco globe. Like, extraterrestrial swirling.

“Ooh! Are they filming a Pawsburgh reboot of ‘Close Encounters’?” Ollie wondered, nosing the air. We made our pact to check it out (but only after pancakes at Paw-lickin’ because, priorities).

Sated by stacks of syrupy goodness, we ambled towards Harrier Harbor where the Dapper Dog’s light-show was now a full-blown doggy rave in the sky. “Max, you sure you didn’t swap my beef treats with the catnip kind?” I joked, sensing his terrier tension. Max only barks the truth—and right now, he barked unequivocal denial.

As we inched closer, something uncanny—a floating Croc, a cosmic cousin of my prized possession—hovered before us. Mesmerized, I let go of earthly logic, and so did my Croc, which made a leap for the stars—or rather, the starship disguised as Pawsburgh’s fanciest fur boutique.

“What in the name of canine is happening?” I pondered aloud. Around us, shop windows flickered. Pet Partners Pet Supplies displayed levitating leashes, and Woof and Whisker Wellness had a weird gamma glow.

“What does it want?” Max’s growl sounded more curious than scared, a mood.

“Maybe it wants a makeover,” Ollie suggested helpfully. Sometimes that dog’s sense of timing was as perfect as his snout for sniffing out snacks.

Just then, the alien Croc dropped before us, and the sky-show halted. Like a sign, it was clear what we had to do. Despite our interstellar visitor’s odd request for grooming advice, we saw our mission: Return this extraterrestrial floater to its rightful galactic closet.

And so we did, presenting the Croc to the light with as much dignity as three dumbfounded dogs can muster. With a flash brighter than the most brilliant beef bone, our visitor was gone, and Pawsburgh returned to its charmingly mysterious self.

As I fell asleep, Croc safely under paw, the thought hit me. In a town like Pawsburgh, it’s the unexplained wonders and the unexpected friendships that make every bark-worthy tale. After all, who needs dry food when life’s full of flavor like this?

The End.

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