Hey there! 🐾 Just finished saving Pawsburgh with a side of canine chic & ghost-proof fashion. Turns out, I’m not just a pretty fluff-face – I lead an army against a ghoul gala with only my wits & Dragonfire plushie. Who knew the apocalypse had such a taste for chicken? 🍗✨ Gotta run, the winds are wagging about another pup-plot! Tails up! – Abby 🐶💖✌️

When the last human bid adieu to our sprawling lands with the least suspecting backward glance, Pawsburgh—a realm of canine wonders—unleashed itself upon the world, with only the starry night as its secret-keeping cloak.

The air this morning tastes of smoked kibble, tinged with the undeniable zest of adventure in Pawsburgh. It’s a post-apocalyptic palette for a dog like me. I’m Abby, your noble Shih Tzu narrator, in a fluff of monochrome glamour, and today is no ordinary day in the life. Rather, a promenade into the unknown, or what we four-leggers call “Tuesday.”

I rise early, or was it late? Time’s a fickle frienemy. As the sunrise is merely a dim memory in the husk of the human era, the glow from the hearth of the Canine Café suffices. It’s where I head first, tail high, dodging the groans and the growls of the not-so-departed. Darlings, in our world, the dead walk—or rather, trot and lope. We’ve learned to wiggle alongside them.

The Café was a haunt of sorts, a place where one could dine amongst friends, living or otherwise. I stopped for my habitual bowl of chicken delight, for its savor is ever so exquisite. Chef Barker, the Saint Bernard of sizzle, leaned heavily on his letters, squatting by the fireplace. His dog bowl-clad eyes looked upon me fondly, “There’s no such thing as too much chicken for the brave, m’dear.”

He had a way with words, Barrett did, but then he had a way with chicken, too. I took my leave with a bounce in my prance, my appetite a satisfied chapter.

The streets of Pawsburgh spread before me—Newfoundland Nook remained steadfast, stoic—and Briard Bridge, ever linking us together like stitches in a well-chewed toy. And speaking of toys, my beloved dragon might just be the key today. Dragonfire, I fancied naming him, for all his crinkliness, was a fine ally in this half-barked world.

The Tail Wagger’s Tailor had stitched a new line of ghost-proof jackets, or so they boast. “They can’t bite what they can’t see,” woofed the Dachshund tailor, whose name escaped me. A blind date with survival seemed an attractive proposition, so I snagged one—burgundy, for it brings out the color in my eyes.

“Elegance is refusal,” quoth Chanel, or was it Fifi the Poodle? Regardless, I refused to wander unprepared, for the Whispers of the West Wind had hinted at a gathering unease at Blue Basenji Bay. The water’s edge always had been a natural canvas for the chaos of the world, but today, the very waves seemed to growl.

Taking my chances, I traversed the terrain with poise born of necessity—necessity and a well-heeled sense of self-preservation. My paws paced the cobblestones with the certainty of a well-dreamt dance, under the watchful gazes of spectral hounds, their ethereal tails wagging in eerie camaraderie.

On reaching the bay, the sands told their story—a message left by paws drenched in urgency. Savvy Sam, the Cocker Spaniel with the nose for news, barked of a tussle afoot—a cornucopia of catastrophe, a gathering of ghouls. They were coming, lured by the scent of camaraderie and chicken.

An impromptu army gathered—friends, both furry and faded, united by the heartbeat of Pawsburgh, and by the hope of a tomorrow, shared over dishes best served warm and stories best told cold.

The skirmish was a sonnet of snarls and snap—a tale of tails unyielding. And as the dusk stretched its lazy limbs out over the bay, Abby, your humble, gallant Shih Tzu, stood as testament to the power of paws persevering. Dragonfire lay at my feet, silent now, but his legacy woven through our victory.

In the end, my dearests, even in the dog-eat-dog-doesn’t-eat-dog world of Pawsburgh, it’s not about the walking or the wagging dead. But rather, the barking and biting love we hold for our friends—seen or unseen—and the never-ending quest for chicken-flavored delight amidst the ruins of time.

The End.