Hey family,

You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. Picture me, Max—the suave, white-grey fur James Bond—navigating a zombie pet apocalypse in Spencerville. With Bella, Finn, and even pesky Monty, I led a daring mission to distract the undead with a squeaky duck and save the day. We emerged victorious, though I think I’ve earned a good grilled chicken meal.

-Stinky/Max

You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. Here I am, prancing through Spencerville like some sort of suave canine James Bond, white-grey fur elegantly shimmering under a patchy sun, and what do I find? Zombies. Yes, you heard right—zombie pets. Post-apocalyptic madness has taken over our near-perfect slice of paradise. Talk about ruining a perfectly good squeaky duck moment.

Now, Spencerville, as you know, is no ordinary town. It’s a masterpiece of canine comfort. We’ve got Western Labradoodle Lake looking like something straight out of an Instagram filter, Beagle Beach with its golden sands, and don’t get me started on the cuisine. K9 Kebabs? Divine. Dog-gone Good BBQ? Fuggedaboutit. And yet, here I am dodging undead dachshunds and poodle pariahs.

“Hey, Max!” That’s Bella barking out my name. She’s this high-energy Labrador, all muscles and good intentions. Always into one mess or another. “You seein’ what I’m seein’?”

“Dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria!” I quipped, trying to keep the mood light, though my fur was standing all on end. Curious by nature, but I’ve yet to meet a mystery package that prepared me for a zombie schnauzer gnawing on an old tennis ball like it’s the Last Supper.

We’re trotting past the Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, which has done a quick pivot to become a fort of sorts. Clever Finn, that Border Collie with the mind of Einstein’s dog, is up there barking orders like there’s no tomorrow—probably correct in this situation, if we don’t get our act together.

“Alright, troops, close ranks!” Finn howls, precision in every syllable. “Max, glad to see you and your duck have made it through un-chomped.”

“Finn,” I reply, “if you know of a grilled chicken place that’s still open, I’m all ears.” Because, let’s face it, all this post-apocalyptic adventure, it’s exhausting. And views on fish? They haven’t changed; a zombie apocalypse isn’t about to make me like sushi any better.

Out of nowhere comes Monty, my sibling and the resident bully of our home setup. He looks at me, one ear flopped awkwardly, the other like a perfectly trimmed hedge. “You always were Mom’s favorite, Max. Let’s see how you handle this world! Ha!”

“Monty, I knew you’d ruin the apocalypse. Can’t even become a zombie without being annoying,” I sneer back, and it hits me—I’ve got to keep it together, not just for myself, but for Bella, Finn, and however many other wagging tails are tucked inside the Happy Hounds Dog Walking building.

The zombie horde, a ragtag mix of spaniels and terriers, is closing in. My squeaky duck lets out an involuntary beep and—wait for it—the zombies are momentarily distracted by the familiar sound. Interesting…

“Finn, I’ve got a plan. Follow me.” Leading my pack, I high-tail it towards Western Labradoodle Lake, tossing my trusty squeaky duck every few feet. Each beep sends the undead pooches into a tizzy, their half-rotten paws swiping at the air. It’s working!

Bella and Finn, now understanding my stratagem, bark in glee. Monty, needless to say, follows begrudgingly. Finally, we reach the lake’s edge, and with a mighty throw, I chuck my beloved squeaky duck into the water. The zombies, bless their non-beating hearts, follow the sound straight into the lake.

“Max, you brilliant Bichon Shih Tzu! You’ve saved us!” Finn exclaims, his tail wagging with the force of a hurricane.

Bella slobbers a wet kiss on me, making me shake my head in mock annoyance but secretly enjoying the gesture. Even Monty, that perpetual pain in my tail, looks impressed, albeit unwilling to admit it.

Crisis averted, the five of us stare at the lake’s calm surface, mirroring a community that’s momentarily at peace. Yet deep inside, I know this adventure was just a small chapter in our post-apocalyptic chronicles of Spencerville.

Now, about that grilled chicken…

The End.