Watching and waiting, the Malthusian visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
“And that,” Captain Rollhagen said. “Is how we do it.”
On the chalkboard he had drawn a crude spaceship, with fins. Dashes indicated the trip from Earth to Mars. Inside were stick people. These represented Earthlings.
It was not a complicated plan.
“What about pets?” asked Lt. Jason Lee.
“Pets?”
“I don’t see any doggies.”
“Or kitty cats,” added Jennifer Tate.
Rollhagen put down his chalk. “Pets and Mars don’t mix.”
Tate was very worried. “What will happen to them?”
Her concerns were shared by much of the crew. In monitoring Earth, they had lately been fascinated with the concept of pet ownership. Shows like Too Cute! and Pitbulls and Parolees were binge-watched, much to the consternation of the captain. There were no animals on the Moon. You might say the Moon and pets don’t mix, either.
“I suppose,” Rollhagen said. “They’ll be released into the wild.”
Cmdr. Kern turned to Tate and Lee. “Survival of the fittest, and all that. Now that’s a TV show even I would watch.”
The two looked at him in horror. “But there’s no food for them,” said Lee.
“Where will they sleep?” said Tate.
Kern examined his nails. “Something tells me they won’t be worried about that for long.”
Though appalled, the crewmates kept their mouths shut. Kern was a well-known S.O.B. But what could you do?
Megan Bremer raised her hand. Everyone fell silent. They knew she owned the only pet on the Moon, a black Lab. Tark had been kidnapped shortly after she was taken, more out of compassion for the dog than anything else. Those monitoring Earth couldn’t stand his sad eyes at the window any longer.
“If I may,” said Bremer. “I would like to propose a solution. We adopt the pets. It’s the only compassionate thing to do. They’ll never make it in the wild.”
The captain thought about this. But it was only for show. He’d always wanted a German shepherd.
“I suppose we can consider it. You’ll have to put in your request through official channels, of course.”
“I want a French bulldog!” someone cried.
“A dachshund for me!” shouted another.
“A Siamese kitten!” a third said.
“One at a time.” The captain picked up his clipboard as the crew crowded around. He began taking orders.
Finally, only Kern was left. He waited until the room emptied. “Actually, Captain,” he said. “I’ll take a chihuahua. If there’s any available.”
Rollhagen smiled. He imagined there would be.
One could see Kern with a chihuahua. A small, pugnacious dog with sharp teeth? That would be about right.
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com