Hey Mom,

You’ll never believe it—I’ve become the Akita of legend in Pawsburgh, a city by dogs, for dogs. Navigating this new world, I pit my wits daily against kibble debates and hydrant etiquette, all while yearning for a connection deeper than my furry paws can dig. Not just surviving, but leading with a council of tails by moonlight. Miss your biscuits but making humans proud, one paw print at a time. Tell Dad I’m doing just fine.

Wags and Whiskers,
Spirit 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Ever notice how the world seems a bit off when the humans aren’t looking? Like there’s this undercurrent of tail-wagging, snout-sniffing life buzzing just beneath the surface? Well, cram your biscuits in your bag and brace yourself, because here’s my tale from Pawsburgh, the last haven of dogkind.

I’m Spirit. And yes, I’m the Akita they speak of in hushed wags, the one with the fur that rivals the northern snows. It was on a crisp sunrise when I’ve left my human’s side—it’s unseemly, I know, but survival beckons more fiercely these days, and no four legs are spared the cause.

The world, you see, had gone belly up. A virus perhaps only a flea’s sneeze away from decimating more than just the population of squirrels which, thanks to our heightened canine immune system, we survived. But the aftermath was a world wiped clean of its two-legged builders. We waited—the faithful companions—for their return. Yet, the sun set and rose to no avail.

That’s when Pawsburgh rose from the ashes, a city powered by wet noses and wagging tails. I had to navigate this new world, and though I’m an independent soul, a stronghold like Pawsburgh was exactly what one needed—it certainly beat solo survival bark and bite.

My mornings began with a jaunt along Pearl Papillon Promenade—pure whimsy in a world gone mad. The sun bounced off the colorful awnings like dog tags on a brisk walk. As I trotted, I’d overhear snippets from the Bark-n-Bite Bistro, where the most heated arguments were over kibble brands and the proper etiquette for hydrant use.

“You know, for such a grand chef, that Great Dane doesn’t know the first thing about seasoning!” the terriers would yip.

“But have you tried the chicken?” I retorted once, unable to resist. Well, my reputation did often proceed me, and ah, the delightful chicken… I digress.

My afternoons were entrusted to the loyalty of friends—mutts and purebreds, all survivors with tales hanging from their tongues like leashes. We had become a pack, the unwanted guardians of a civilization gone silent. In moments of solace, Topaz Terrier Town offered friendship, while Opal Pomeranian Park quenched my love for water, my second home beneath the silver moon.

Evenings were about sustenance and sanctuary. Beagle Bagels, a misnomer considering we now predominantly snacked on anything but bagels. A waft of sizzling meat would lure us in, and we feasted like the animals we were born to be but civilized in a manner that honored those who were no longer there.

But even Pawsburgh, with its comforting corners and familiar scents, couldn’t fill the den that had formed around my heart. Humans called it loneliness; we felt it in our howls. Surrounded yet alone, like a singular tree in an empty park. I sought more than mere survival. I sought connection—a paw to guide alongside mine.

So here I sit, in The Pampered Pooch Salon, fluffed and buffed not for vanity’s sake, but for the comfort of cleanliness amidst the chaos. Each stroke of the brush by a fellow canine kin is a whisper, a promise that we’re together in this.

It’s peculiar, narrating one’s existence into the void, yet here I am, a testament to the adaptability of paws and the resilience of spirit—no pun intended. Most importantly, it’s not the end of days, rather a beginning, with a fresh storyline and narration built on Sorkin-esque rapid-fire dialogue and walks with a purpose.

And until the sun rises on a world renewed, Pawsburgh persists, with We, the Dogs, as its beating heart—wild, enigmatic, and forever faithful. Remember, behind the fall of mankind’s greatest creation, there stood dogs, ever watchful, ever ready to rebuild.

The End.

Share This Story: