Hey there, it’s me, Feliz, the canine sentinel of Pawsburg. Not only am I the terrier with the glint of adventure in my eyes, but I’m also the pulse of this bark-post-apocalyptic world. We may not have our humans, but we’ve got spirit, chew toys for days, and enough sniffs to write our own epic tail. I’m leading the pack towards a new dawn, one frisbee at a time. Paws crossed we meet on the flip side. 🐾

Stay waggy,
Feliz

As the golden hues of dawn crept across the remnants of what humans once called civilization, we dogs emerged from our nightly hideaways, the smells of a fresh, uncertain world awakening in our nostrils. I, Feliz, a Rat Terrier Maltese with a coat that shimmers like the last star of the night, shook off the dew and memories of the warmer bed that awaited my return.

It had been moons since the humans simply vanished, leaving behind a stillness in their stead. Yet, in Pawsburg, we’ve found solace, a town that whispered to our canny instincts and wagging tails, promising adventures and camaraderie amidst the silence.

This particular day found me sauntering through Amber Akita Alley, where the sunken establishments echoed with the ghostly barks of bustling market days. My keen eyes traced the stories embedded in every weathered sign and paw-worn cobblestone. There was Tail-Twitching Treats, now a bittersweet monument to the delicacies we once savored, and Puppy Patisserie, with its windows still fogged with the dream of confections and camaraderie.

With each step, my gait clinked like loose change, a jingle in the symphony of survival. My friends, whom you’ve likely met with a sniff and a nuzzle, spanned the gamut of breeds and ages, each of us sharing the weight of this new world on our shoulders.

Our daily routines were interspersed with the search for sustenance, the foraging for fellowship. And through the ruins of Fido’s Feast, where gastronomy once flourished, we scavenged for the scraps of yesterday.

“Good morning, Feliz!” The greeting came from Sam, who once bestow upon me chicken morsels, but now swapped trades in protection and companionship. “Found any of those frisbees you treasure so much today?”

“Not as of yet, Sam,” I replied, my tongue lolling with the taste of adventure, “But the day is yet young, and the chase is my calling.”

Our exchange felt like a skit, one of those humorous tidbits humans watched with glee, but now, it was our reality, our ‘normal’, to embody such roles.

The days were punctuated with patrols around Bloodhound Bluffs and explorations down the enigmatic Papillon Promenade. The Snooty Snout Boutique stood deserted, its wares of high fashion and frivolous accessories now trivial in a world where function trumped form.

Yet, as the starlit nights draped Pawsburg like a comforting blanket, we found peace beneath the moon. We whispered tales of narrow escapes, the camaraderie kindled in the shared disdain for objects of our previous domestication — the loathed vacuum cleaner, a common foe that united us in its oppressive whir.

We banded together, each of us playing our part in the Dog’s Ensemble, where once we played for treats, scratches, and the occasional “Who’s a good dog?” — now we played the bards of survival, our anecdotes sung in snarls and barks in the place once ruled by man.

This is our resurgence, our epoch — we are the Walking Pets. And amidst this world’s unturned stones and untold secrets, I found myself not just a dog, but a guardian, a guide, a friend…

As for those bitter greens Mrs. Lavender lovingly tried to serve? Even now, I dance away from their shadows, a flourish of my tail marking their graves as I hunt for tastier spoils.

And so here I am, Feliz, sharing with you a glimpse behind the curtain of my life in Pawsburg. The bond we have developed, dear human reader, imbues within each word a hope that perhaps one day, our stories will intertwine once again.

The End.

Share This Story: