Hey Mom,

In a nutshell, I’ve become Pawsburgh’s ray of hope in a post-Event doggone world. Swapping belly rubs for resilience – we’re rebuilding this pupper paradise, one tail wag at a time. Oh, and the Howling Husky’s gone, but the spirit? Unshakable. Keep sniffing the good stuff!

Licks and wags,
Charlie B. 🐾

Listen to the story here

Listen: Charlie B. here. And before we wag any further down this tail, I want the record to drool right off the bat – Pawsburgh might just be the last bastion of canine civilization that’s not gone to the dogs. Quite literally.

So it goes, the humans went and left us a bone of a different kind to chew on. They called it ‘The Event’. A big, bad, apocalyptic chew toy that left the world looking like the business end of a squirrel chase. Now us pups, we find ourselves in a bit of a pickle, albeit a rather quiet and peaceful pickle, mind you, in Pawsburgh.

Today started like any other. The sun rose over Lhasa Lane like a hot biscuit fresh from the oven, and right there is where I often take my morning stride. A caramel-coated Aussie Labradoodle like myself, I’ve got energy to burn and a love for the chase that keeps my tail up high.

And so I trotted, spotting Kane, the Doberman from next door, sniffing around the rubble that used to be The Howling Husky Hardware Store. He’s a titanic heart, that one, but with a nervous tick when it comes to loud noises – a trait not unknown since ‘The Event’. We exchanged a nod; it spoke volumes in the silence of our new world.

“Charlie,” came a gravelly bark from behind me. I turned to see the three-headed Chihuahua trio, perched atop what remained of the Furry Friends Art Gallery, their eyes as wide as the dinner plates we once knew. Curiosity got the better of me, and I with my cloak of bravery approached, though a part of me remembered the stubborn streak mother so fondly chided me for.

“You’ll never guess what’s happening at Emerald Eskimo Estuary,” the left Chihuahua head piped, while the right one nodded so emphatically it was a wonder the third head didn’t fall off.

Without a second bark, I bounded towards the Estuary, the undercurrent of adventure pulsing through my veins. The squeaky ball in my mouth seemed to resonate with the echo of the unknown. The sun glistened off my caramel toupee, and I could feel the steadiness of my companion-stuffed heart.

And there it was – Emerald Eskimo Estuary, a sparkle amidst the decay, where we’d once frolicked to the symphony of seagulls and surf. But the gulls were gone, replaced by the eerie quiet of an abandoned world.

Canine’s Cuisine and Puppy Plate were no more, and dry kibble was the least of our distastes now. I missed the savory scent of Collie’s Cuisine, now a mere wisp of a memory. So it goes.

I found myself at Canine Cafe, or what was left of it. Inside, canines were gathered, not around dog bowls, but around a plan. A plan to rebuild, to restore, to revive. I whistled with delight. The sun streamed through a crack in the wall, warming my Velcro soul.

So it goes, as Pawsburgh’s self-appointed sunshine, I vowed then to protect not just the bones and balls, but the hope that yipped quietly among the lost howls. The charm of this tail-wag of a town might be scruffy around the edges, but as long as we’ve got our four paws and a tale to tell, well, let’s just say life in Pawsburgh ain’t too ruff.

And so it goes…

The End.

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