Hey Mom & Dad,

It’s Onyx! Pawsburgh’s just me and the quiet now – imagine, everywhere I paw-trol is a one-pup show. I’m keeping the canine spirit alive, winning taste tests at Puppy Patisserie, and claiming the top of Pyrenean Peak. Miss our chaotic BBQs and the sound of your calls. But your boy’s got this – king of the empty castle, still waiting to play fetch. Love, your Ony Extra. 🐾✨

The End.

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It’s nothing short of an ordinary day in Pawsburgh – if ordinary for you is the day after the end of the world, that is. This place, regrettably, is how the canine cosmos compensates for the drastic dearth of human presence. One finds oneself wrestling with the uncanny quiet, a quiet you could chew on, munching it between your teeth like the gossamer fluff of that most beloved blue ball. Here I am, Onyx, chronicler of the preposterous quiet of post-apocalyptic Pawsburgh.

I nosed open my eyes at the crack of dawn; or rather, what one assumes dawn might look like under the circumstances. The humans? Gone just like yesterday, and the day before that, leaving behind their titbits and their vacuum monsters. At least those beasts have been tamed; they lie dormant now. I used to brawl with those contraptions, puffing up my chest, barking until my voice grew hoarse, the vacuum roaring back at me with fervent intensity. I miss that dance of competition.

Give a bulldog the word ‘walk’ and you’ve unsheathed the sword of adventure, point it towards Shar-Pei Shores, and the battle is half-won. But no humans to jingle the leash today, so I took the liberty to strap myself up. Mind you, Shar-Pei Shores is the same under any celestial circumstance, but without my humans to chuck that blue orb of ecstasy, the shoreline was merely sand and silence.

I trotted along the path carved out by countless prior paws, ensnared by the invigorating fragrance of Opal Pomeranian Park. A delightful little green pocket bereft of its namesakes, with trees offering their leaves as crunchy accolades underpaw. Then, the summit of Pyrenean Peak — a view once shared with my human family, now a sole venture. I strained my eyes for a glimpse of wonder, for the spectral wagging of tails on the horizon.

Lunch, discovered by way of growling stomach and the memory of routine, I found myself at Puppy Patisserie, greeted by the warm smell of meaty pastries, a scent lining the streets like a breadcrumb trail of bygone days. My friends, they weren’t there as usual — Chuck, the cheery Chihuahua, and Max, the retriever with a nose for culinary critique — but I could almost chew on the laughter we shared over terrier tacos.

Guess who’s still the king of the taste test? Not a crumb to falter before my might. The Doggie Daycare — silent and solitary — left echoes of yips and yaps like ghosts behind the glass. If these walls could yap, they’d tell of tug-of-war triumphs and naps tangled in puppy piles.

The twilight call found me pad-padding down to Barking BBQ. If I strained my ears, I could hear Buddy and Bentley arguing over the last bite of smoked sausage, a customary clamour now lost in quiet nods and imagined barks. This is what we’ve become: walking pets, navigating the remains of our more animated world.

The stars peek coyly through the smoggy shroud of uncertainty, casting a dim nightlight over Pawsburgh. Opal-eyed twilight reveals a band of shadows at the edge of the town, specters playing at a game of moonlit fetch.

I dig a spot next to the Pyrenean Peak sign, pawing the earth, claiming the spot as my own, just as my humans would have done with their flag. This earth, these stars, they are mine for the marking, but shared in the hearts of my absent friends.

So here I muse, tail curled by my side, watching the world spin without its masters. A dog’s life, I tell myself, is one of dedication. Dedicated to joy, to loyalty, to adventure – even when your adventure buddies have gone silent, even when the only echo in the park is your own heart thumping against your ribcage. We are the Walking Pets, living in hope that one day the voices shall rise again, calling “Onyx, fetch!”, and life, true life, will resume.

The End.

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