Close Encounters of the Kong Kind

The helicopter flight from Skull Island to my ultimate destination has been long and exhausting, the only rest period being a layover in Japan to drop off Young Kong in Tokyo. It turns out that my kidnappers in the black airships had no interest in Young Kong at all; they were only after the Kong of the Gods itself. And, as it turns out, me.

Once we leave Japan, the operatives who took me from Skull Island blindfold me so I cannot see the terrain below. We fly for hours and hours, with no sounds passing between us except for the drone of the rotors. But then, at last, the blindfold is removed, and looking out the window, I see my astonishing destination.

This secret facility in the deserted northeastern corner of Wyoming is nothing other than a replica of the Kong of the Gods. Who built it? Why? The government agents who have taken me will not say. But once we land, I discover that they took me because of my extensive knowledge and long investigation of the Kong of the Gods. They want me to help them communicate with its makers; and, being a prisoner here, I have no choice but to comply. Within a few weeks, we are ready for a momentous encounter.

The excitement is palpable among the workers here as the alien ship descends; and yet I detect something in the air besides mere enthusiasm, an undercurrent of fear, or possibly dinner.

Are these visitors truly friendly? Do they mean us good or ill? The next few minutes will be crucial.

The ship touches down, swirling the dry air around us and around the Kong of the Gods, left near the landing pad as a sort of offering. A hatch opens in the side of the great ship, and the leader of the aliens emerges. He carries something in his hand. A weapon? A gift? What is it?

A miniature version of the Kong of the Gods! Now we know that these are indeed those aliens that we hoped to reach. A cheer goes up from those assembled as the slender alien explains that the Grear Kong is a treasured artifact of their race, lost thousands of years ago during an earlier visit to our planet. As it speaks, a horde of smaller aliens emerges to reclaim their prize. I am brought forward to greet them with tail-wagging and kisses, because they look like small children, and we vizslas can’t resist those.

As the aliens prepare to depart, I am made to understand that they are inviting me to come with them. It is a tempting offer; but my work is here, on Earth, not in the stars, and so I must regretfully decline. But as I turn to return to the others, I realize that the hatch has already closed behind me. Somewhere, a klaxon has begun to sound. My new alien friends hurry me to a seat and strap me in. An emergency takeoff seems to be in progress; but why? What is happening outside that could possibly frighten such an advanced race?

It seems that I will be journeying into space after all. I only hope that someday I can return to Earth and return to the archeology department; because I am Dennis the Vizsla, and I never give up.