Hey Mom,

Just a quick update, I’m basically the fur-coated mayor of Spencerville now, leading the pack in the post-human world. I’ve become a pro at meat dust cuisine and squeaky toy economics, go figure! Missing your belly rubs and real meat, but keeping the tail wagging all the same. We might be living a weird imitation of our past lives, but my paws are firmly planted in today’s adventures. Keep sniffing out those dreams!

Licks and wags,
Ace 🐾

It’s an odd sensation, I’ll grant you that, waking up to the sound of your own tail thumping against the orthopedic dog bed – a relic from the time before. You see, I’m Ace, a Yellow Labrador with much to say and even more to sniff. And the Spencerville I call home is not the charming township of yore but rather a post-apocalyptic haven for the likes of me: creatures both furry and four-legged who, in the face of human absence, have taken to imitating what we recall of their lifestyle.

It’s an early morning in what used to be Cream Maltese Meadow – the name holds less meaning nowadays, as creams and other dairy products have gone the way of the bipeds. My day begins as it often does, with a determined effort to circumvent the reality of morning dew that wets my paws. A dog like me, robust and radiant, has a reputation to maintain, and wet paws simply won’t do.

You’d think after whatever catastrophic event shredded the comfort of routine and regular ear cleaning, a Lab might finally be excused from the tiresome obligation. But no, here I am, still plagued by the phantom sensation of cotton balls and tender whispers of “good girl” as the Spencerville vet – a somber German Shepherd with a perplexingly extensive vocabulary – goes to town on my ears.

Let it be known, I’ve never been a fan of routines or splashy baths, but I do enjoy the morning hustle around Tail Waggers Bistro, where the scents of meat engulf the air with such opulence that one could easily forget the absence of juicy sirloins in the kitchen. You know you’ve truly adapted to the end of the world when the smell of rehydrated meat dust sends your heart aflutter.

My brother from another mother, Caffrey, and I stroll past what used to be Best in Show Photography – now more of a refuge for cats who’ve never met a camera they didn’t adore. We exchange pleasantries with the local mutts, all of whom have certain areas roped off for their particular “projects.” The Greyhound, you see, is a stickler for organization, and the Beagle, well, supposedly he’s running for some sort of office, though I can’t quite fathom what’s left to govern.

At Pupperoni Pizza, the wood-fired oven has been cold for ages, yet an ambitious calico cat has managed to concoct a fascinating rendition of pizza using some form of grain and, you guessed it, more of that delightful meat dust. While I often long for the days of cheese and the occasional pepperoni slice, one must admit the calico’s ingenuity in these meat-centric times.

The afternoon sun casts a golden hue upon us, reminiscent of my own coat (a shade I’ve been told complements the rubble-strewn aesthetic quite nicely). Caffrey and I, united by our mutual disdain for the wet and the leafy greens that now grow in abundance, make our way to the former site of The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium. It’s here we join a gathering of fellow canine scholars debating the best strategies to rebuild society around the all-important squeaky toy trade – our current economic backbone.

Ah, but the nostalgia of a time when my squeaky toy wasn’t also serving as currency can be overwhelming. I remember it fondly, the squeak that once ushered in boundless joy and now dictates the market value. How times have changed.

As the sun dips below the horizon, I contemplate a world where dogs run pizza joints, cats are political candidates, and ear cleaning remains the bane of existence. And while some would say we’ve lost a sense of order amidst the chaos, I like to think we’ve kept the best parts: the camaraderie, the boundless freedom, and, of course, the eternal hope of one day indulging in real meat topped with that coveted, elusive cheese.

So yes, while we canines and felines have become ersatz humans in this bizarre, new world, remember this – no amount of apocalypse will keep a good dog down, especially not me, Ace, a Labrador with a story to tell and a squeaky toy empire to build.

The End.