Hey Mom, I’ve turned into quite the pup-adventurer in this backwards world – steering my squad through the silent streets of Pawsburg, flipping pancakes, and raiding toy empires. Made a new buddy and learned that teamwork is the snack that doesn’t crunch away. Paws crossed for cuddles and those apple treats post-apocalypse! Love, Lukie 🐾✨🍎

Oh boy, oh boy, I can hardly contain my wagging here, but I’m going to need you to lean in close, because what I have to share is no ordinary tail – er, tale. So, huddle up, friends, you’re about to dive nose-first into the story of Luke, that’s me, the Yorkie wonder of Pawsburg.

Okay, picture this: a world flipped upside down, a woof, a bark, and then silence. Just me, Luke, stepping paw out into streets lined with toppled hydrants and chewed-up lampposts. It’s like all the humans just disappeared one day, and let me tell you, at first, we were sort of into it. Unlimited naps on the sofa? Check. Full reign of the shoe closet? Double check. But here’s where it gets ruff — food stops magically appearing in bowls, and belly rubs become a currency of the past.

So, Pawsburg, here I come, scurrying through empty streets with the bravado of a pup ten times my size, heading toward Onyx Otterhound Oasis to meet up with my squad, Taz and Paco. Our usual banter’s replaced by survival talk, and trust me, that’s a switch from discussing who’s got the floofiest tail at the park.

Speaking of survival, first stop is Paw-lickin’ Pancakes, because if we’re going to navigate this new world, we need a belly full of syrupy goodness. But the weird part? The place is a ghost town. Like, no adorable apron-wearing poodles, no stack of pancakes waiting to be devoured. Just this eerie quiet. A beat. And then we remember — we’re the waitstaff now.

“Barista Luke at your service,” I say, pulling off my best Mindy Kaling impression, trying to lighten the mood, but Taz just rolls his eyes. He’s more of an action-movie guy.

The chew toy in my pack squeaks, and I swear, it feels like a shout in the silence. We all jump, ’cause seriously, in a world this empty, noise feels like a stranger jumping out of a birthday cake — unexpected and yet, strangely enticing?

Anyway, with bellies begrudgingly full of kibble we scrounged up, we set our sights higher: Malamute Mountain, because the view’s gotta be worth it, right? We hike, paws over paws, me with a spring in my step imagining all the stories I’m going to bark to Momma someday.

That’s when we see it: The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, once purveyor of all things plush and squeaky, now a beacon of hope. We dash inside. Not even Taz can resist the mountains of toys, and we’re salvaging like it’s Black Friday at the mall.

Only, amidst the racket of toy carnage, we hear something else. A shuffle. A pant. And no, it’s not me out of breath — I’ve been working on my cardio. There’s someone else here. We freeze. Paco’s about to nope out of there, but I’m curious. Courage, remember?

A nose pokes out from behind a mound of squeaky bones. It’s Duke, the Bloodhound, all droopy ears and wise eyes.

He tells us about Pooch’s Pizzeria, now a council hub for all Pawsburg survivors, planning survival and, no lie, pizza Fridays. (Because even in a post-apocalyptic world, some traditions are worth keeping, people!)

So here I am, Luke the Yorkie, a small dog making a big splash in the vast pond that is our new reality. It’s not all fetch and frolic, and I’d give anything to hear Momma’s voice again, but we’ve got something that no end-of-days scenario can take away — the bond of paws together, the thrill of new beginnings, and yeah, the dream of the ultimate cuddle when the world rights itself again.

And those apple treats? I’m finding them. Because nobody said the apocalypse had to be flavorless.

The End.

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