Hercules PawWord Story

Hey Mom,

Remember that quiet life, chasing squirrels and recoiling from bananas? That’s history. Pawsburg’s gone. Bone Appetit’s a ruin, and showers are a charred dream. Yet, us dogs are strong. North Chihuahua Castle shines under the starlight, and it whispers- we survive. Tomorrow, we fight – armed with wags and a desperate want of raw meat platters. Maybe we’ll rebuild a new Canine Cafe, sans the bananas.

Woof and love,
Hercules

Listen to the story here

Daylight fades around me, Pawsburg’s remains are bathed in held breath. I’m Hercules, your friendly neighborhood English Bulldog, and if you know me, you know we’ve stumbled onto strange days. I shake off the dust, strolling through what use to be familiar streets.

Not much left of the old Greyhound Grove, just scorched trees and memories of laughter, mud games, and crazy squirrel chases. I stop over by the rusty swings, my tail gently wagging to the rhythm of age-old rhymes. Raw meat cravings emerge, all those evenings at Bone Appetit, indulging in rare steak platters.

“Ye Old Pawsburg,” I sigh, the syllables catching like shaggy fur on a thistle bush. “Reduced to a chew toy.”

Despite the desolation, my old haunt Lower Dalmatian Desert brings comfort. The sun sets, casting long, warm shadows over the empty expanse. Here, in this desolate place, peace remains. Perhaps even the end of the world has its silver linings – no more deafening drone of delivery vans or shrill ringing of the veterinarian clinic’s phone. The apocalypse does have one upside: quiet. And there’s plenty of it.

Suddenly, hunger gnaws, sharp as a chewed-up frisbee edge. “To the ruin of Bone Appetit,” I decide, my drool making mud speckles on the barren ground. The old sign tilts perilously atop the charred remains like a reminder of better times filled with gravy and giggles. I nose around the debris, the smell of charred Puppy Pñata Tacos fading into the acrid scent of forgotten embers.

Fruit store visits don’t hold the same allure without the bizarre sight of me recoiling from bunches of bananas. “Dreaded yellow bendy things! Still, that can’t quash my love for the Canine Cafe’s smashed berries, or their Berry Smash, for that matter.

Back home, or what left of it, bath time ain’t the same either. The bathtub, now a burnt-up husk mocks me, my disdain for its suds seemed like misplaced rage, even in canine terms.

As night blankets my ruined town, I make my way to an untouched spot. In the quiet moonlight, North Chihuahua Castle stands proud and resolute, an anomaly in a world gone mad. Right there, under its shadow, I lay down, scarred streets under my belly.

Stars twinkle, like far-off friends, remembering the good old days when we gathered at Pawsome Pancakes and munched down on bacon stacks, giggling at the sight of syrup stuck to snouts.

We survive, don’t we? Humans don’t have a monopoly on resilience. Damaged but undeterred, Pawsburg and its doggy denizens endure, optimism and tail wags intact.

The dawn, I know, holds another day; another chapter in the canine chronicles. And all we need to face it with a wag and a might is a raw meat platter, hold the bananas.

The End.