Hey there,

You won’t believe it, but I’m living my own tailspin adventure! Pawsburgh’s a shadow of its former self, but us scrappy survivors stick together. I’m steering us through the rubble, believing in second chances and rebuilding our tomorrow, one paw print at a time. Think guardian, leader, hope-giver – that’s me. We’re the heart that keeps this town beating, and we won’t stop. Bark my words, we’ll see joy here again.

Till the next wag,
Courage 🐾

Listen to the story here

Well, spill my kibble and call me a renegade – the world ain’t what it used to be. I’ve been around the block more times than I’ve chased my own tail, but that was before. Before the skies howled down madness and Blue Moon wagged its farewell. I remember when my humans tucked me in with whispers of “good girl” echoing through the night. Now, it echoes just the same, but only in the chambers of my heart.

Here I stand, Courage by name and courage by nature, in the heart of beloved Pawsburgh. What’s left of it, anyway. You know, it used to buzz with bark-n-rolls and tail wagging – a true haven away from the leashes and “no, leave it!” of the human world. Now? I make my way through Cocker Courtyard, where stands once chased tails in merry spirals, now lie still in the dusk of new beginnings.

Pawsburgh’s survivors, we’re a scruffy bunch, but we’ve got heart. We gather at Canine’s Cuisine, a place I once turned my snout at for its lack of meaty treats – can you imagine? But those fancy kibbles don’t matter now, not when survival’s the game and each sunrise is a victory lap. We dine on what we can scavenge, and we do it together. There’s no place for dislike anymore, not even for the bananas that used to trick my taste buds.

I still visit The Woofy Bakery. It’s empty, but the ghost scents of Pawberry muffins linger like comforting specters on the wind. My old pals, the sturdy ropes, they’re part of the past now. They’d stand no chance against the new world, with sterner challenges demanding the bite of resilience. No more tug-of-war, it’s us against what’s out there – and we need all the strength our paws can muster.

Pointer Pier, once the slick boardwalk superstar, now a sanctuary for quiet reflection. I walk its planks with the patience of age, listen to waves whisper lullabies that sync with my heartbeat. Spa for Paws, my indulgent hideaway, now a shell I pass by. Mud baths seem whimsical in a world where every splash signals a new chapter of survival.

I have friends here, survivors like me – names woven into the tapestry of this second chance we call life. We stand fur to fur, gaze steady towards the horizon where once fireworks painted freedom. Now, Terrier Town’s serene chapels nurture hope amidst the ruin. Its silent bells echo the promise of restoration within our paws’ reach.

And in the eerie quiet, I heed the whisper: rebuild, renew, reclaim.

At night, I find solace in familiar corners of Canine Couture Clothing, its racks a framework for the dreams we’re reluctant to shed. I close my eyes and see, clear as day, the Pawsburgh that once was. I tell my friends, I tell myself – who else would listen to an old dog’s longings?

“We are the guardians of tomorrow, noble beasts of the aftermath,” I declare to head-nods and perked ears.

Our adventures now lie in the crafting of legacies, with the scent of a future we’re paw-printing together. As I lead my pack through the remnants of yesterday’s joy, I know our stories will resonate through generations like the profound howl of our ancestors beneath the moon’s watchful gaze. So, dear reader, as you know me well, you’ll understand when I say: though the world may crumble, a dog named Courage, and her canine kin, will always find a way to carry on.

The End.