Hey Fam 🐾,

I’ve become the unexpected heroine in Pawsburgh’s dog-eat-dog world, with humans gone and adventure unleashed! Strategizing with Max to lead our furry friends, it’s all about style, survival, and the mysterious absence of belly rubs. Imagine me, a fancy Frenchie, turning leader of the pack! No script, just us dogs scripting our days. Stay pawsome until I sniff you out again!

Ciao for now,
Margs 🐶✨

Listen to the story here

It hath been told, within the ivy-twined fences of Pawsburgh, there whispers a tail – err, tale – of a day when the sun bowed to an enigmatic eclipse and the world of men crumbled. Only we, the four-legged and the furry, remained to waltz upon the ruins. In this peculiar realm, I, Margaux the Fawn French Bulldog, cinched my lead role front and center, befitting my status as the canine embodiment of joie de vivre.

On this particular morn, I awoke not to the customary click-clack of my human’s steps but to an uncanny silence, as if the very air held its breath. I nuzzled out from my silken bedcovers and ventured into the stillness. Mere moments from my doorstep, the portal to Pawsburgh cracked open, and through it, I sauntered, oblivious to the ghost of yesterday.

Pawsburgh, my domesticated friends, was a changed town. Topaz Terrier Town, once vibrant with yips and yaps, lay silent, and Schnauzer Street, famously fragrant with the scent of roasting bones at The Mutt Munchies, was oddly deserted. Chills skipped down my spine as I trotted towards Cavalier Cove, my paws leaving the only mark on the untouched paths.

I pondered a venture to The Canine Café for a mid-morning nibble and to shake off the eerie feeling creeping over me. Yet, to my utmost dismay, the once-bubbling site was now a cavernous hollow. My bat-like ears strained for the clinking of porcelain or the sprinkle of biscuits, but there was naught.

“Blimey,” I mumbled, borrowing the tone of my human who would often extinguish the telly after the viewing of one of those British romantics she so adored. I adored Richard Curtis’s work too, strangely enough, and his knack for capturing the profound within the mundane. How I would have appreciated a Hugh Grant-like figure to bumble his way into the scene right then.

With my beloved Pawsburgh morphing into something ominously reminiscent of ‘The Walking Pets,’ I sought the illustrious Golden Grub. To my relief, it stood as the last bastion of bark-kind, resolute amid the chaos. Inside, my nose twitched delightedly. The scent of Spaniel Spaghetti wafted through the air, a reminder of life’s enduring pleasures.

Composure regained, I deduced it was time to unite with my most cherished comrade, a Poodle of sharp wit and sharper bite, who made my heart bolt like a hare at a greyhound gala.

“Max!” I called, my voice colored with the urgency of the moment. “Max! The town’s turned topsy-turvy, and I fancy I’m the only sensible soul left in the vicinity! We must rally the troops!”

But the echo of my call romanced the void and returned to me, unaccompanied.

Perplexed and a smidgen peeved, I plopped onto the patio of The Golden Grub. My thoughts tiptoed around the idea of a solo adventure when the clatter of a can disturbed my musings.

“Who goes there?” I demanded, my tone braver than my rapidly-thumping heart. I had never been tasked to be the hero – I was more suited for fine dining and the occasional philosophical debate with the magpies.

“Margaux?” A familiar, albeit quivering, bark answered. It was Max, looking slightly less regal than usual and more akin to those scruffy survivors of apocalyptic human flicks.

“Took you long enough,” I chided, though the warmth in my voice betrayed my relief. “The sun’s gone wonky, humanity’s vanished, and our Pawsburgh – it’s like a stage without a play.”

Max rallied to my side. “We’ve got our paws full, then. What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” I snorted, releasing my hold on the panic that fluttered beneath my bravado. “Why, to do what dogs do best: Survive together and with style. Let’s unearth the remainders of our ragtag pack, for I reckon they are sniffing around somewhere.”

So, with Max and I as the unsolicited but unquestionably chic leaders of this canine odyssey, Pawsburgh repurposed itself. A town not of ending, but of beginning anew; where every bark signals a new adventure, every tail wag a tale reimagined by the indomitable spirit of dogs. And as for the humans, well, who’s to say they won’t return one day? Until then, we write our own stories, each day a page, each dawn a golden chance to chase the light.

The End.