Hey Dad,

Guess who’s become Pawsburgh’s Sherlock Bones in this tail-wagging thriller? Your furry, four-legged Watson, Walter! The humans are MIA, but fear not, I’m sniffing out leads and rallying the paw patrol. We’ve traded treats for truths, and with nose to the ground, I’m on the hunt for the kibble to save our tails. Stay tuned for this beagle’s brave bark in the silence! 🐾

Your adventurous pooch,
Wally

In the heart of Pawsburgh, I stand – Walter, the Beagle – my tri-colored coat a little dusty, eyes reflecting the spirit of Samoyed Square, which, for the moment, seems as forsaken as a bone yard on fasting day. Even so, I maintain the jovial wag of my tail, undeterred by the eerie silence. The once bustling Shar-Pei Shores are silent, and the Weimaraner Woods whisper with a chill that’s not entirely due to the breeze that rustles through the leaves.

It’s strange, you see. The humans had always been a background buzz to the magnificence of Pawsburgh’s splendid isolation, a peculiar constant while we dogs carved out a sanctuary beneath the moon’s glowing eye. Then – calamity! A post-apocalyptic hush blanketed the world. Not a single collar jingle to be heard through the echoes of former frolics.

You remember, don’t you? The recent overturn of chew toys and the subsequent dearth of savory roasted chicken – my personal favorite, next to a good sweet potato mash. One does miss the occasional indulgence at Bark Buffet; their chicken was always impeccably roasted, paws down.

Without our humans, we stroll the streets with newfound questions, something that tastes heavier on the tongue than dry kibble. Not that I’d recognize the taste, mind you – it can stay the stuff of legends, for all I care. Give me homestyle dining at Golden Grub any day, I’d say, looking you right in the eye with the utmost sincerity. And I’m sure my friend Jasper would agree. Even though he’s got more pounds to carry, he’s disinclined to touch the dry stuff. A connoisseur, that Mastiff.

Best in Show Photography now captures empty gazes rather than the luster of well-groomed tails, and my plush squirrel toy – fate unknown – is probably gathering dust in the Howling Husky Hardware Store, where it had last been seen when Bella sent it sailing with a triumphant bat of her paw. That Border Collie – always the life of the party, now rustles through the remnants, her frisbee forgotten in the wake.

The adventures, previously light-hearted escapades, now carry the weight of survival. Woof Waffles endures as a hint of the sweetness, a smell lingering like a comforting ghost. But don’t take me for a hapless pup. This Beagle’s snout has sniffed out more than one trail in its day. The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy might hold the answer to revitalization; the cure could be nestled between the flea combs and heartworm pills, who’s to say?

With the solidarity of my Pawsburgh pals, I am ready to trot into the uncharted, to seek and to find. There’s a solution to be had, discoveries beyond the fence where Walter’s woof has not yet ventured. Through this canine tale of uncertainty and hope, I vow to uphold the banner of dogged determination. We stick together, thick through thin, fur through fir.

So, to the bipeds who might stumble upon these inked musings, if you wonder where your loyal companions dreamt and dared whilst you slumbered – know this: in the realm bereft of human footprints, we’ve kept the glow of living alive. And when Pawsburgh arises from the shadows to a dawn of tail wagging and ear scratches, it will be a marvelous tale woven from the barks and howls of every faithful friend you’ve ever known, including, of course, yours truly, Walter.

The End.

Share This Story: