Hi Mom,
Guess what? I’m now the unlikely hero of a post-apocalyptic world called Spencerville. My new job involves calming anxious paws and showing new arrivals the ropes—think “tour guide meets doggie therapist.” I’ve even made friends with a spiritual mentor! Who knew a fawn pug like me could keep things running smoothly in chaos?
Love, your adventurous boy, Googly Moogly

### A Pug’s Paws in the Apocalypse

I awoke in Spencerville with the peculiar realization that my day was going to involve more than my usual sun-drenched naps and occasional trot to Bark and Bites. You see, there’d been a bit of a kerfuffle above ground, and Spencerville was dealing with an influx of new residents. The world had gone noisier, smokier, and altogether more chaotic. It wasn’t beyond repair, mind you, it just needed a spot of tidying up—much like my ears after an overly enthusiastic ear-cleaning session.

I am Griffin, a fawn pug with a disposition as calm as a pudding, yet my curiosity sometimes pushes me out of my comfort zone, much like venturing into the vacuumed parts of the house I’d rather avoid.

“Griffin, there’s been a disturbance in Lower Dalmatian Desert,” announced Lily, a border collie of significant influence here. I imagine in the humankind world, she’d possess an office with an impressive array of squeaky toys and a drawer full of treats. “They’re forming a squad to help organize the new arrivals.”

“Do tell,” I mumbled, more out of politeness than actual interest. My bed, reclined by the window, basking in the nonexistent post-apocalyptic sunshine, seemed far more appealing. However, the thought of adventure did prick my curiosity—the same sort that led me to tread territory unwelcome to carrots but conducive to watermelon.

“That curiosity of yours, Griffin,” Lily’s sharp eyes twinkled as if she could hear my train of thought chugging laboriously along rusty tracks, “it’s needed. And so is your memory. Gilly’s spirit whispers that today isn’t a day for lounging.”

Gilly. Now there was a name—memories of our friendship wafted in like the phantom scent of steak bones. Spurred by the thought, I rose, albeit reluctantly, and followed Lily to the Desert.

As expected, the scene was quite the hullabaloo. Pups, cats, and even a ferret or two scampered about, bewildered but gradually soothing into a more tranquil state. There was an elderly Retriever muttering about how in his day things were simpler—no post-apocalyptic ruinations to worry about, just squirrels and postmen.

At the epicenter of the chaos stood the new arrivals, still reeling from their transit upheaval, like a pug freshly shamed by an ear-cleaning session. However, even in this disheveled state, I spotted a familiar fawn-colored fur.

“Griffin!” yapped an old terrier whose energy belied her years. “Could you adopt a few strays, stare meaningfully until they’re calm, and have a bit of a chin-wag about how things operate down here?”

I mulled this over. It wasn’t cuddling or steak bones, but helping others settle in held its own reward. Plus, if I must admit, a purple octopus—my beloved toy—had told me that sometimes adventure takes one to unexpected places.

“Right-o!” I barked back, attempting to sound authoritative. It came out somewhat more endearing rather than commanding, a tone I’ve been told dogs excel at.

So there I was, meandering through the Lower Dalmatian Desert, collecting lost souls and regaling them with stories of Spencerville’s fine establishments. “The Barkery makes the fluffiest treats you’ll ever taste. And look over there,” I gestured to the west with my distinguished snout, “Bullmastiff Boardwalk, perfect for a stroll or, my favorite, finding that prime sunbathing spot.”

I overhead Fluffy, a somewhat portly Samoyed, confiding to another nervy Jack Russell about his reticence towards rain and assured them both, “Rain’s just a passing fancy here; not to worry.”

As I continued, my personal tales of human-world comforts brought collective sighs of relaxation. A voice, warm and angelic, seemed to echo in the stillness. It was Gilly’s presence, reassuring and grounding. She had always managed to calm the chaos, and somehow her spirit gave me the strength I needed.

Reflecting on worldly ‘Big-World-Up’ responsibilities like survival in Spencerville—a minimalist form of rebuilding society here—you couldn’t help but feel a tad smarter. I led my new chums past shops like The Groom Room where one could spruce up (for who knows what post-apocalyptic gala), to Happy Hounds Dog Walking, a space reminiscent of our ol’ sunny backyard walks.

As the day wound to a close, my companions seemed more rooted than upon arrival. Perhaps it was the mélange of familiar scents, kind words, or even my regal presence that evoked a sense of belonging. We’d rebuilt—if not society itself—then pocket-sized moments of consolation, awaiting our human parents’ eventual return.

In Spencerville, where every whiff and wag of a tail spoke volumes, we weren’t just surviving; we were creating stories that would be passed down. Tales of Griffin, the fawn pug, and his post-apocalyptic adventures—both whimsy and warmth abounded in our waiting town of heavenly hounds.

The End.