“Apocalypse Chow: Surviving the Overindulgence in Pawsburg” : A Charlie Brown PawWord Story

Hey, it’s CB. Ruffles went on a wild chow binge, thought it was the start of an apocalypse! Nah, just misplaced his appetite. Couple of neighborhood canines surviving one paw at a time. Life’s a funny epic, isn’t it? Wags, Charlie Brown

Listen to the story here

There I was, Charlie Brown – not a blockhead, rather a Chihuahua, in FYI. The night had tucked Pawsburg in her dark blanket and all was calm. Not me though. Calm was a holiday I rarely took. I was just crossing Shih Tzu Stadium, my paws tapping lightly on the dew-kissed grass when, out of the clear blue, I saw something. Understand – in Pawsburg, the oddity isn’t odd, it’s the ordinary that raises eyebrows.

I squinted. Ruffles, my buddy, my sort of yang in our unique yin- yang relationship, was…was what, junk food-binging? He was stuffing his face at the Chow Hound Café, polishing off mountains of doggie donuts, enthusiastically lining up for seconds, thirds. I mean, Ruffles was no ruffler of weight concerns but this was… this was…

An apocalypse? Overeating as a precursor to End-times? Could it be? The Walking Pets Apocalypse. Or did he have worms? That didn’t seem right.

Instinctively, I darted towards the Chow Hound. Fueled by panic or hunger? A toss up. But you know, it’s funny, Charlie with the reputation of Pawsburg’s heartthrob galloping along like a wobbly jockey without the horse. Me, the cheeky little runt who had charmed the pants off half the canine community (figuratively speaking, we don’t wear pants).

Barging at Chow Hound’s, I found Ruffles, donuts smeared over his droopy face. Mortifying sight.

“Ruffles, what on earth was the idea of this public overindulgence? We could be facing the apocalypse, and here you are trying to invent an eighth deadly sin!”

Ruffles looked at me sheepishly. I sighed, looking at my larger-than-life friend. All he offered in way of an apology was a burp, whipped cream dribbling from his mouth corners. If this was how the apocalypse was going to start…

From Lower Golden Gate Gardens to Sniff ‘n’ Snack, my squeaky duck in my mouth, we moved; a couple of misfit canines in the backdrop of an apocalypse. I could almost taste the grilled chicken slices I’d forsaken for this epic quest of ours. Cucumbers could take a hike for now, thank God!

Dapper Dog Salon loomed ominously in the distance, a testament to how untouched Pawsburg had remained amidst the apocalypse. For now.

“Ruffles, if this apocalypse is about overeating…I think we’ve both learnt something valuable. I mean, what a metaphor for life! So much food yet so little time.”

Stream of consciousness or stream of grilled chicken dreams? I suppose the apocalypse has its own ticking clock. Secure your chicken, folks, the pets are coming. After all, isn’t it all about survival, one paw at a time?

The End.