“Hit the Dogpocalypse running today, zig-zagging around Pawsburg like a chew toy in a pitbull’s jaws. City’s as dead as a no-bark command on Barkingham Palace day. Sniffed out the ghost of Ruff-n-Ready’s salmon special for an apocalypse snack – just my dry wit. Made camp in the canine couture cemetery, found my old rope ball. Then, surprise! Who walks in but bookworm Sparrow. Now it’s the dynamic dog and whimpering writer, end of the world wingmen. Guess there’s hope for us yet – let’s outbark the apocalypse together! Woof-ya later, LC (Whiskers).”

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And there I was, Whiskers the Wonder Dog, pelting through the desolate streets of Pawsburg, white fur streaked with grime, ears pricked for the distant groan of The Infected. Quite a turn of events, I must say, trading in my small-town charm for chaotic survival mode.

I weaved through the now decrepit walls of Bulldog Bay, every inch speaking volumes of the playful memories once nurtured here. A small whimper escaped me as I imagined my friends, as lost and frightened as me. Whiskers, ever the brave wanderer, now wishing for the simplicity of a quick game of fetch by the beach.

Even in the shadow of apocalypse, Pawsburg still held its essence. Marine aroma still hung around, infiltrated by the eerier scent of decay. A far cry from the sweet scent of salmon that used to waft from Ruff-n-Ready, my mouth watered at the thought. Or was it thirst? A sigh. Dehydrated. Pawsible, I mused with a little inner chuckle. But, one marauding mutt’s gotta keep the humor alive, right?

Hunger gnawing, I made a pit stop at The Barking Boutique, now resembling a skeleton of its former lively self. Its wares lay scattered, even the pet fashions devastated by this Petmageddon. My eyes fell on a familiar shape, the weather-beaten rope ball – my gold standard for fun. It lay there innocent and unaware of the horrors around it. And, strangely enough, it made me feel a little bit better.

“Whiskers,” a familiar voice floated through my ears, snapping me out of my reminiscing. It was nothing less than a miracle. Sparrow, standing amidst the ruins of the Wagging Tail Bookstore, looking as fragile as the pages dancing around her. “Oh Sparrow,” I thought. She must’ve soundlessly tiptoed her way into the disaster zone. A soft-spoken bookworm who’d suddenly decided to dog-eared the pages of adventure.

“You scared, Whiskers?” she asked in barely a whisper, crouching down to stroke my grimy fur. I let out a low whimper, ambivalent between the relief bubbling inside me and the fear for her safety. “It’s okay,” she hummed, “we’ll find a way through this, like always. You, me, against the apocalypse.”

Well, I thought, life really is full of surprises. You think you’re going to end up as the brave, wandering dog adventurer, and the next thing you know, it’s apocalypse day. But I suppose, even in the dreary setting, life would still be just about bearable with a friend like Sparrow. And hey, maybe she could help me convince a zombie to try some kale. It isn’t the end of the world, right?

The End.