Hey there, it’s your girl Gracie, aka Pawsburgh’s leading tail-wagger. Quick update: I’m basically the fur-clad heroine of this dog-eat-dog world. Today, dodged some brussels sprouts – code for trouble – with my fluffy squad. Found scraps and shared laughs. Survival’s tough, but our pack’s tougher. Remember, we’ve got enough spunk to make even a post-apocalyptic world feel like home. Keep your snout up! 🐾 – Gracie

Listen to the story here

The morning sun cast its first golden rays over the silent rows of abandoned houses, and so began another day in the curious world after everything changed. I’m Gracie, by the way. Not your regular four-legged heroine, but then again, these aren’t regular times.

And what is a regular dog to do in Pawsburgh, the last bark of civilization in this post-apocalyptic scene? If you think we’re bound to sit and stay, you’ve got another think coming.

It started just like any other ordinary day, except those don’t exist anymore. I was at the edge of Basenji Bay, the waves lapping at the shore with a rhythm that used to soothe the restless. Now, it’s a grey sea under a somber sky – and trust me, I have an eye for color, shades of tan and white to be precise.

I planned to visit The Dapper Dog Salon for a much-needed trim, but that, like so many human fantasies, is a thing of the past. Instead, I have a standing appointment at the Woof and Whisker Wellness Center. Survival takes a bit more than looking good these days.

Mastiff’s Meals was on the way, and that’s where we were meeting. They used to serve the best salmon on the North side. If I were to write a review now, To Die For would be an understatement. Frankly, to die is a tad too easy these days.

Scuffling my paws across the gravel path, I arrived just as the clock tower struck what seemed like an utterly irrelevant hour. The silence was deafening. That’s when I caught the scent — salmon. It was faint, but my taste buds pranced in joyful memory.

There they were, my motley crew of furry misfits. We had congregated around a weathered table, our eyes reflecting the unspoken fear and unyielding determination of those who have seen too much. Whippet Wraps might still stand, but wraps were off the menu. Now, it was all about what we could scavenge, trap, or, in my case, outright charm with my bulldog tenacity.

“We need to head to Newfoundland Nook before dusk,” barked Charlie, a scruffy terrier with a knack for strategy. “There might be supplies.”

He had a point. Where there is life, there are scraps, and where there are scraps, dogs like us might just find means to sustain life a little further.

Just then, the faintest whiff made my fur stand on end. Brussels sprouts. Ugh, if there was a scent that could mean danger, that was it.

We moved stealthily through Old Town, the once charming district of Pawsburgh, now a shadowed maze of survival. Rottweiler Ridge loomed in the distance, its peaks marred by the scars of our new reality. But fear was not in my vocabulary. After all, I had a sturdy rope toy back home, seasoned in victorious battles.

“Don’t worry, Gracie,” yipped Max, a chihuahua with the heart of a lion. “We’ve got your back.”

My friends with their ears perked and eyes wide, we navigated the desolate town, each stone and corner a silent testament to days long gone.

As we reached the end of our journey for the day, setting our loot before us, sharing the smallest morsels, I realized that in this world where bones were harder to come by, we found something richer — each other.

And sure, it’s not the Pawsburgh of before, but we have adventures, grand tales to tell those who’ll never hear them. For now, though, it’s enough. Enough to make our tails wag softly as the stars of the once known world twinkle, one by one, bidding us another silent night.

There, that’s the vignette of our life, my friends. With strength in our paws and hope in our hearts, we face each new day. And maybe, just maybe, the future is a little less scary because we’re walking it together.

The End.