“Saw a ghost town sunrise in Pawsburg. Me & Biscuit missing Maverick’s fishy scent on the wind. Found rope toy in the wreckage, piercing bittersweet joy. Was chased by a haunting bark, but we ran like hell & survived. Amid chaos, Biscuit’s spirit is the heartbeat keeping us going. Talk soon – LC & Biscuit 🐾”

Listen to the story here

I reckon it was a calm and lonesome sunrise in Pawsburg today. There was a strange silence hanging in the air, just like the postman’s absent whistle that usually used to slice my ears – and Biscuit’s, of course. That dog. That eccentric, protective, archenemy befriending dog. I love that beast.

I glanced at Biscuit, her eyes wide, tail alert, in sync with the crack of dawn. Her sky-blue eyes were a carousel of reflections, spinning tales I dared not listen to. Our world was moving at odd angles, but Biscuit…she was resilient. As if resilience was simply grilled chicken to a famished soul, she devoured adversity and spat out courage.

Swiftly, I unfolded a well crumpled map of Pawsburg, eyes darting over landmarks. Fetch! Toys and Treats, The Woofy Bakery, Fishy Bites – ah, that was Biscuit’s favorite, the thought of warm, grilled chicken hidden in her beloved bites. It was a mere fantasy now.

I murmured, “Care for a stroll, Biscuit?” Her reply, a bark, echoed through our silent domicile, bouncing off the lifeless walls.

Stepping out into the biting air of Pawsburg, the mist that floated above Retriever River added an eerie layer to the desolation. Biscuit scampered ahead, tracing her trusty route towards Red Beagle Beach. Old habits die hard. A laugh gurgled up my throat, the sound strange and foreign to my ears.

She ran back to me, her black shiny coat flecked with droplets of cold, clear water. Oh, that dog was full of surprises. That she was so merrily splashed around Bullmastiff Boardwalk with the world crumbling around us was a spit in the face of our sorry situation. That was my Biscuit, a persistent slap of normal amidst the chaos.

Now, as we strolled through town, I thought of Maverick and I could tell Biscuit missed the foolish cat, missed their silent rendezvous under the old cherry tree. Today, all we had of Maverick was a faint scent on the wind – fishy and faintly wild.

Amidst our ramble, Biscuit picked up her knotted rope toy from the ruins of Fetch! Toys and Treats. Clothes and trinkets were scattered everywhere, the sad remnants of what once was a bustling canine paradise. Biscuit’s jubilance at finding her toy was a bittersweet moment, one that told more tales of a world left behind.

Suddenly, the silence was punctuated by a low growl. Instantly, Biscuit’s playful demeanor shifted, her protective instinct exploding into the stagnant air. I had a moment to brace myself before it came upon us. The growl matured into a horrifying bark. And then, we were running.

Biscuit was a working machine by my side—teeth bared, coat rippling like a battle flag. Fear struck me, but then I remembered Biscuit, witnessed her resilience right beside me and I knew, we were in it together. For better, for worse.

Back at our homely cottage, we caught our breaths, just two survivors with their spirits colliding in the collapsing universe—myself and Biscuit, the heartbeat of Pawsburg, staving off the hangover from the apocalypse one day at a time.

The End.