To understand how Poncho and his friends got in that horrible situation, we'll have to take a look back to the start of Poncho's day...

"MEOW-ROCH!"

That was the sound of a cat getting pushed off the couch. Poncho jumped up to where the cat had been moments before, and opened the newspaper. He read an article on some new discoveries made in a chemical laboratory not to far from his house, and did the soduku puzzle. "BLIK!" His phone beeped. It was a text from his friend Boomer, telling him "We need you at the cafe. " Poncho texted back "I'll b there", and jumped down.

The cafe in question was a shack in an alley off of Main Street. Bobo, the barman and owner, had turned the shack into a hangout for dogs. Poncho and his friends used it as an alternative to the dog park. Bobo rarely served food, and the coffee was sometimes just water. Boomer used it as the base for his pack, and his efforts to launch all cats into the sun via a cat-catapult. Poncho smiled as he remembered all the good times he had had there. And there were his friends. Boomer, his best pal, and alpha male. Hudson, the naive and far-to-ethical beagle. Poo Poo, the male Bichon Friese, who might be part cat. Gus, the scottish terrier who he had no good memories of.

"BLIK!"

It was Boomer again. "Where r u?" read the text. "On my way" replied Poncho. By the time Poncho had arrived at the cafe, it had begun to rain, and he was walked in, and his friends dived out of the way, knowing he was about to shake.

"We really need umbrellas." remarked Gus, a Scottish Terrier. Gus did not duck in time, and was soaked. "See this is what I mean. With umbrellas we could do away with this annoying..": Gus continued talking, unaware that no one was listening to him.

"So why exactly did you need me here for?" demanded Poncho. "I was just settling in for my post-breakfast nap."

"Our long-range scanners detected something alarming." said Hudson.

"We have long-range scanners?" Hudson led Poncho through a door, and pointed to a group of dogs sitting at computers, looking through Google+, Facebook, blogs, Wikia, Wikipedia, and CNN. "Ah." said Poncho. "So what exactly did our 'long range scanners' pick up? I really need my naps."

"This." replied Hudson, and nodded to a dog sitting at one of the stations. The dog clicked on a tab open to the news website for a town called Beaver Falls. The Website boasted that they were hosting the 38th annual international mailman convention next week.

"Oh my god." Poncho whispered, barley able to breathe. "You there!" he shouted at a lieutenant supervising, "Take it up to level seven. As of this moment, we are officially at war." The dog's eyes widened, and he started shaking, his tail drooping between his legs.

"Belay that." ordered Boomer. The young officer sighed in relief. "This information does not leave this room. I do not plan to initiate a mass panic among this canine community. Lieutenant." he pointed to the same dog, "Inform our Beaver Falls division of the situation. Tell them to cover it up, and monitor the situation 24/7."

Yessir!" the officer replied and hurried away to contact the dog in charge of the Beaver Falls station. Hudson and Poncho exchanged a glance as Boomer began barking orders around the room. They both knew that this would be yet another adventure for the three of them, no doubt endangering Poo Poo again along the way.

"Hudson!" Boomer shouted, jerking both of the smaller dogs back to the present. "Tell BoBo to assemble the council."


The council in question was a group of dogs that advised Boomer in the running of his pack, and handled the administrative matters of the Catapult-all-cats-into-the-sun organization. It consisted of Poncho (Beta Male), Hudson (stenographer), Poo Poo (major), Gus (someone keeps inviting him), Bobo (it was his Bar, after all), and a few other dogs. Their job was to make sure Boomer was somewhat fair in his rulings, and to approve funding for various projects. Getting them all together was hard, but when Hudson told BoBo to add that they were barley staying out of level seven, every single member dropped what he was doing and rushed to the cafe.

"I need options, people!" shouted Boomer, once they had all assembled.

"Um, technically, we're dogs, not people." said Poo Poo. "So what you really should be saying is 'I need options, dogs'" The other pooches giggled, but a glare from Boomer was all it took to silence them. "Sorry." said Poo Poo.

"As I was saying, I need options on how to deal with this." The projector display switched from the BoomerLand logo to the webpage announcing the mailman convention. Their was a collective gasp from around the room. "As you see, this is a threat to our very existence. We're keeping it covered up at the moment, but it's taking a drain on resources. I've already alerted the Canine Security Force, and they assure me they will send some agents." Canine Security Force is the organization tasked with the security of the canine empire. For something like a regional Cat Lover's meeting they left that to the packs in the area, but a national mailman convention, not to mention a global one is something they could not afford to ignore. "So," continued Boomer, "what are my options?"

'We..could..attack!" Shouted the ever-too-millitaristic Gus. "We have the advantage of surprise, and at the moment, a superior force. According to the website," he pointed at the projector screen, still open to the news website, "the convention is barely open. It won't really start until tomorrow."

"No" Boomer responded. "I won't go to war yet. My superiors at C.S.F. have ordered me to stay put, and that's what I plan to do." At that moment, the young lieutenant burst through the door. " Damn it, now what?" Boomer snapped, growing more and more irritable by the second.

"We're sorry sir, but he claims he has to show you something." said one of the guards by the door.

"We just received this transmission from our outpost in beaver falls!" He hit a few buttons on the laptop hooked up to the projector, and the display switched to a video of the sergeant in charge of the outpost. The audio was broken, but he did not realize this as he kept screaming and gesturing. Then, an explosion engulfed the door behind him, killing him instantly. The last few seconds of footage showed mailmen entering the command center before the screen switched to static. For a moment, everyone in the command center was silent.

Then Boomer said "I think we can go to level seven now, Poncho."


Boomer's Pack had a considerable fighting force. Three divisions each divided into four platoons consisting of four six-dog squadrons. The divisions answered to Major Poo Poo, who in turn answered directly to General Boomer. There was also an artillery regiment with two tanks, one infantry squadron, and four mechs. All of the military hardware was stored in an underground warehouse three floors below Pooch Café. Tw floors below Pooch Café was the War Room, where Poncho, Boomer, Hudson, and Poo Poo now sat, surrounded by technicians and officers, both human and canine, going over status reports and running diagnostics

"Poncho, Poo Poo, you're with me." Boomer said. "And, Poo Poo, take your best squad."

"I'm not doing anything until I know where we are going." the Bichon Friese replied indignantly.

"Me neither." said Poncho.

"Dammit." said Boomer. "Fine. I want to know exactly what happened to that outpost. We're going to Beaver Falls."