Hey Mom, just saved Pawsburgh from a canine zombie apocalypse caused by wonky flea meds! Led a furry crew, tossed cheese-infused cures, and quashed the undead uprising. Remember, your daughter’s a hero with a penchant for cheddar and adventure. Sue Jangles, signing off. xoxo 🐾🧀💪

Oh boy, okay. You know, when they said the world would go to the dogs one day, I didn’t think they meant it quite so literally. I’m Sue Jangles. You might know me as the English Bulldog with more sass than wrinkles, which is saying a lot, ’cause, well, have you seen this face?

Today isn’t just any ordinary day in Pawsburgh – and let me tell you, ordinary is a stretch around here. But zombies? As if Mondays needed to get any worse. It started as any other escape to our secret magical town. I woke up from my mid-morning siesta, stretched out my short legs, and poof! I was at Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, but something felt more off than getting a bath on a Saturday.

The air was thick with a scent of… desperation? No, wait… old socks? Whatever it was, it set my hackles up. I creeped down to Garnet Greyhound Grove, a typical meeting spot for us dogs. I mean, usually it’s bustling with bark-offs and the excited yips of pups, but today, it was like… eerily quiet – except for the occasional groan, which, honestly, sometimes is just me on an empty stomach. Not today, though.

I saw them then, the “zombies,” shambling around with the grace of a newborn fawn on roller skates. And by zombies, I mean dogs who look like they’ve sniffed one too many electrical sockets. They had this funky, glazed-over look in their eyes, like that time I accidentally watched a whole season of “Real Housecats” with Sassy. Never. Again.

So there I was, thinking about my options. I could run to Poodle’s Pasta for some carbs to fuel up. Maybe grab a slice at Pooch’s Pizzeria, but there was no time for that. The Barking Dead were everywhere, and I had to act.

I rallied the troops – Ivy, that Sheba Inu who can disappear into her own shadow, and even Sassy. Yes, I know, she’s a cat, but have you tried arguing with her? Exactly. We ran to Terrier Town, where the little ones were freaking out. Imagine a bunch of hyperactive squirrels but cuter and more vocally expressive. That was them.

With the quick wit of Mindy Kaling if she were, you know, a dog, I hatched a plan. “Guys,” I said, “we’re not just going to roll over and play dead!” There were nods, a few tail wags, and admittedly, some nervous piddles – but hey, crisis can do that to you.

We circled around The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, where we found the source of the zombification – flea treatment gone wrong. I mean, who doesn’t have an existential crisis after a flea bath? But this was next level. I barked orders, “Ivy, grab the antidote! Sassy, I need your ninja moves! Distract the zombies with that disapproving glare of yours.”

In no time, we had the remedy ready. Cheddar chippies mixed with the antidote, because if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that cheese covers a multitude of sins – including the foul taste of medicine.

We tossed the chippies like little cheesy frisbees, and one by one, the Barking Dead began returning to their tail-wagging selves. Every chomp was a win for Team Sanity. And as for my pals and me, we high-pawed each other, our fur slightly more matted with sweat and achievement.

At the end of it all, back on my farm, with every blade of grass still bending to my will, I recounted the tale to my sleeping human. They stirred, smiled, and I knew they believed in the adventures of Pawsburgh as much as I do.

So look, I’m just saying, if the world ever tries to go “Barking Dead” for real, just remember: sometimes the hero you need has a wagging tail, a love for cheddar chippies, and underdog determination in a zombie apocalypse.

The End.

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