Hey Dad,

Hercules here! Busy day in Pawsburg – battled some undead growlers, fortified the place up good. Missed my afternoon nap again, but saved the world, so trade-offs. See you at breakfast!

Cheers,
Your Teddy Bear.

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It takes naught but a relentless chime of my secret alarm, tucked cleverly under my favorite chew toy, to haul me from the dreamland. Right into the heart of my real Armageddon. “Hercules! Time to wake up!” I hear my human croon, with all the sweetness of an apple tartalong with all the lies! I play up, the clever act of sleep. Minutes pass and I can hear her shuffling feet. The quiet symphony of Pawsburg beckons me.

Now the coast is clear, my stubby legs carry my roly-poly body to our secret gateway. I sneak a glance at my human. Just to make sure she’s settling on the couch, eyes trained on that rectangle of color and noise. Fortunate, as it’s the close of another day. A secret charm, a twist of the paw, and down I go into Pawsburg.

I spot Margaux, tail wagging an enthusiastic welcome, over at Beagle Beach. Boss is probably downing some bark burgers at the infamous Joint. It’s a revelation, such pure undiluted joy. Being the Hercules of Pawsburg does have its charm. It’s the adventure, my fellows, no thunderstorms to fear, no obnoxious beach to torture my paws, no humans with bags and boxes. Pure paradise.

Yet, even paradise can twist into a feral nightmare. A change in the wind and an eerie hush drape over Pawsburg. The undead walk among us, their growls echoing within Pawsburg. Surviving, evolved tactics – not all games of chase and bitter sweetness of tug-of-war. Life’s a one big day-care, with us fighting for our treats.

A streak of crimson light paints the sky. A signal that echoes Alas, another day of survival, banding together in trust and companionship. The tale of the Hercules of Pawsburg is yet unfinished! The adventure just begins, as we fortify Beagle Beach. Steering away from the world our world of delightful chews, the tasty steaks, our favorite bark burgers. The horror dawn of apocalypse fails to bury our loyalty, our unyielding spirit against our foes.

In each stride, each snarl faced, every uncertainty outlasted, I find myself navigating this labyrinth, no less an enigma than the streets humming under the city lights, into the unkempt wilderness of reality.

In the sanctuary enclave of Pawsburg, I shall fear no foe, no thunder-filled nights. And as I lay, my stout figure taking the bulk of the worn-out couch at The Snooty Snout Boutique, a fleeting glimpse of my brimming life reflects in my one red eye. The other taking in the phoenix that is the weathered face of Pawsburg, rising from its ashes, preparing for the oncoming storm. A full-circle spectacle of Pawsburg, from the Lower Silver Siberian Summit to Beagle Beach.

As night falls, I shall ascend from Pawsburg. A promise within my heart remains, an oath that the Hercules of Pawsburg will return once again to its welcoming embrace.

The End.

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