Hey Mom,

Big news from your furball heroine! Today, I led the canine council in Spencerville, debated the finer points of post-apocalypse survival, perfected the art of tennis ball chasing, AND remained undefeated by the hideous roar of the vacuum cleaner! Still waiting for the big human reunion, but until then, I’ve got Bulldog Bay to roam and plenty of Pupperoni Pizza to munch. Tails up for freedom and treats!

Licks and sniffs,
Molly the Brave 🐾✨

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The sun had never dared to pierce the pallid grey ceiling that was the sky before The Great Rumble, so when its rays now filter through ever so shyly, it is as if the world has decided to put on a show of hope. You probably remember that, before the humans, and before the exodus to this charming canine Valhalla, Molly’s days were much like any other domesticated creature of habit.

Today begins unlike any other with me, your loyal protagonist, Molly, waking to a symphony of distant howling—a remnant of a time when our ballads were calls to arms and unity. Stretching on my porch, I observe my realm, Spencerville: a tapestry unspooled from the wheel of doggy fates.

The pavement remains cool beneath my paws as I saunter towards my old haunt Pupperoni Pizza—still serving despite the end of days. The crust, a perfect balance of crispy and chewy, is an omen of good things to come. I nod to Scruffy the server, who bears the trappings of post-apocalypse, a canine Mad Max if you will, with more gusto than a squirrel on espresso.

My stomach protests, and so we must talk of tennis balls, for they are my solace, my getaway car from the world’s troubles. I make my pilgrimage to what humans once lovingly termed a ‘park.’ The Orb awaits, nestled in its cradle of green—oh, sublime joy! The dance of chase is sacred, and I perform my part with a thespian’s zeal and an athlete’s precision. My audience? Remnants of a time less complicated, now wise spectators to this display of simplicity.

Ever the multi-tasker, I pivot back to the matter at hand, the reconstruction of society, or as we canines might put it, the re-barking of orders. With Woody, my retriever companion, and Shiloh my humble Bernese co-conspirator, we form a council of sorts. Our work? To discuss the philosophical implications of the treat-based economy, post-apocalyptic hydrant etiquette, and the like.

Stormy is no help in these matters, she says it’s more of a dogs’ doing, but I notice she listens, carefully calculating from behind whiskers that twitch with her own thoughts of dominion.

Swimming, well that is out of the question, a conversation left for braver souls. And hiking? That remains a joy untarnished, where the vestiges of humanity’s footprints are now overlaid with paws. Companionship, that’s the mortar we build upon, a mix of loyalty and that delightful recognition of one’s scent after a long day’s adventures.

In a world sans humans, sans the leashes and the fences, perhaps we can finally talk of freedom, exploring the realms of Bulldog Bay with the wind ruffling our fur. Yet, does one ever consider what freedom truly means for a domesticated spirit? Poodle Pond may reflect our images, but can it reveal our hearts’ desires?

As Molly the Pitbull, a connoisseur of the simplicity that was forced upon us by complex circumstances, I must confess—the vacuum cleaner remains my nemesis, a monstrous cacophony that, much like the past, refuses to be buried.

Our days now are not so different in essence to those before—we seek, we find. We play, we rest. And above all, we wait, fur brushed by The Pampered Pooch Salon in anticipation of that unspoken reunion.

There now. Do not let it be said that I, your humble narrator, have not guided you through the day to end all days and the days that follow. For even amid the rubble and echoes of a world forgotten, there dances a pitbull with spots like heaven, whose tail wags not just her story, but the anthem of new beginnings in this post-apocalyptic canine idyll we’ve woven around ourselves, waiting for when the sky splits open not with fear, but with the joy of reunion.

The End.

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