Hey Mom,

Just had the usual adventure in Pawsburgh: traded quips with philosopher Baxter, raced around with Lulu, avoided a bath at the Dapper Dog, and sniffed out a victory by reclaiming my old hedgehog toy. As the world turns, we keep wagging in this wild, whiskery wonderland. Missing my two-legged pack leader. Belly rubs and barks,

Zoey 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Dear two-legged reader, lend me your fancy human ears—or eyes—for I fancy telling you a tale of an average day in a not-so-average life. ‘Tis I, Zoey, the Shih Tzu with the fur as stellar as the Milky Way itself, speaking to you directly from the enigmatic realm of Pawsburgh in the after-times. Yes, the world for you may have skedaddled to smithereens, but for us, the canine conclave, ’tis merely another day to unfurl our tales and whiskers.

Where to begin? Like most disarmingly charming narrators, I woke up in a cushy, post-apocalyptic morning, with sun rays teasing through the shattered skylight. The humans had long ago toddled off to who-knows-where, leaving behind their beastly besties to inherit the earth. And in Pawsburgh, we sure did inherit it with a wag and a woof.

Shaking my brindle coat free of dreams, I trotted down Whippet Way, where once-grand buildings now donned a rather disheveled chic. Pawsburgh, ever the dog’s haven, throbbed with an eager energy, as if the rumbled remains were a mere trifle compared to the day ahead.

I greeted Baxter with a customary sniff—he’s rather long in the tooth, you see, a philosopher of sorts among dogs. Sitting amidst the rubble with eyes holding the wisdom of ages, he was ever the believer in the beauty of bones. “Morning, old soul,” I quipped, never one to pass up a chance to gently tease. “Preparing to bury more treasures?”

“Zoey,” he replied with that languid lilt of his, “each bone is a story, and in this barren world, stories are our greatest treasure.” Ever the sage, but sometimes I suspect he just enjoys the digging.

Lulu, on the other paw, as excitable as a pup on its first walk, bounded up to me with her tail conducting an invisible orchestra. “The chase is on today!” she enthused, a sparkle in her beady, beagle eyes. Lulu could find excitement in a gust of wind, but that’s what made her Lulu.

Canine’s Cuisine, our local eatery, stood unassumingly on the corner of Papillon Promenade like a bunker of bliss. Ah, the wonders that place held! The scents alone were enough to write sonnets about. Moseying in, I was hit by an aroma so divine I nearly forgot the ruined world outside. Who needs grilled salmon in the throes of the apocalypse when one can delight in the pungent smell of Poodle’s Pasta?

The Dapper Dog Salon, despite the dust and decay, maintained its glamor—a beacon of grooming in a tattered town. Refraining from the bath they so love to foist upon me, I dared only to indulge in a light brushing. Vanity, in the face of doom, is still a canine’s cherished companion, after all.

We wove through Akita Alley, our pack unabashedly alive, carrying on amid the end-days with a paw-thumping pride. ‘Twas here, amidst the shambles, we discovered an intact hedgehog toy, my old amusement. It’s the little things, they say, and as I pranced with my plushy find, I suppose I couldn’t disagree.

The day waned, and our hearts were full. We lay atop a hill, where the city once pulsed with life, and watched the stars peek out. “Quite the day,” I mused, the hedgehog resting beneath my chin.

“Yes,” Baxter agreed, “quite the day indeed.”

And as slumber beckoned me into its comforting embrace, I thought of the humans. Dear, fragile things, I do hope they’re somewhere, telling tales of a world they once knew, much like I do now.

This is Zoey, signing off from Pawsburgh—the land where every dog has its day, and every day is a story, waiting to be told with a wag and a whisper.

The End.