Hey Mom,
Ever tried to hold onto freedom in a shattered world? Imagine me, paws scuffing through ruins, chasing memories and a squeaky red ball that still makes that perfect sound. Found a friend, Lyra—an elegant Golden Retriever, in this wasteland. Together, we wander, sniff, and remember—finding pieces of paradise in a forgotten dog park. One day, I’ll find home again. Until then, know that your pup is out here, nose to the ground, sharing echoes of old dreams.

Love, Mags

Ever tried to catch a breeze of everlasting freedom in a broken world? That’s me most days. My paws scuff through dust and cracks, and my nose twitches with every whiff of faded dreams. Here on the shell of Earth, an eerie calm prevails—no humans about, and the familiar voices have turned into echoes, like whispers carried by the wind.

Memories of chasing rubber balls pulse through my mind—a squeak here, a bounce there—a distant symphony of simpler times. I find solace in the remnants of what was, and as a loyal sentinel of this land, I tell myself: “Maggie, keep moving. Nose to the ground, ears perked for any sign of life.”

Now, about that squeaky ball. It’s red, and though it’s slightly scuffed, never fails to bring that satisfying sound when it’s clamped between my jaws. It’s my one companion in this forsaken place, where the sun sets like an eternal sigh over burned-out horizons.

Every crack in the sidewalk, every rustle of withered leaves tells a story. Yet, it’s the dog park that pulls at my heartstrings. It’s now just an expanse of forlorn green—barely green. But oh, the memories—joy, freedom, the weightless feeling of sprinting without end.

It’s always the subtle scents that bring back the warmth of my mom. Ham. Chicken. My tail wagging as I recall the lush smells wafting up from the ground while my stomach growled in anticipation. I’ve found scraps here and there; ham was divine, chicken a treat, but peas—ugh. A whiff of those and my muzzle wrinkles in disdain. Some things never change.

One day I scoured through the emptiness near Northern Choco Chihuahua Castle. Crumbled walls, sprawling roots, and silence—but something unusual. There she was—a silhouette against the graying backdrop, fur as soft as dusk, ears like delicate petals. Eyes that spoke a language as ancient as the winds. Lyra. Golden Retriever. Elegant gait. Intricate simplicity.

Her presence chipped away at the loneliness encasing my soul. It’s strange, yet profoundly right. Like two halved sensations finding each other in a world dipped in solitude. We wandered, we sniffed, we lived in the quiet cadence of rediscovery. Her fur against mine became a declaration against the void, an embrace against desolation.

We navigated the ruins, islands of memory in a sea of forgetfulness, taking refuge in places like the South Siberian Summit, where the air tasted faintly of adventure and echoes of distant barks rang like forgotten chords of a symphony.

Every now and again, we slipped into Pupsicle Palace, its sign now crooked but still grand in its own right. No pupsicles left, just shadowy corners where dreams once resided. And Doggy Delight—empty bowls, silent kitchen, but scents of old dinners lingered like ghostly remnants.

Lyra and I found solace in storytelling. “Remember that gust of wind that carried a thousand scents? The sun-dappled paths we used to tread?” she’d say, her whispers blending with the breeze. Conversations danced around our desires and our past, like an unspoken melody.

Spencerville… A place where paws never tired and tails wagged endlessly. It’s there that our hearts will one day congregate. Til then, here we remain—etched into the very fabric of this broken world, finding pockets of perfectness in the imperfection.

Maybe, just maybe, our barks will one day echo—reverberating through time and space. This I know—some scents never fade, some memories stay engraved in the soul, and my mom, the one who always looked out for me, will find her way back. To the ruffles of my fur, to the beating of my heart, to Spencerville—a mirage for now, a reality soon to be.

For what is a world but the scent-trace of love left behind? And Lyra, she is my scent now, entwined in the pursuit of memories and dreams as we chase after a horizon that promises reunion, promises everything and more.

The End.