Hey Mom,

Just checking in from the ruins of Spencerville. 🐾 Today I navigated our pack through donuts, ice cream, and some hardcore obedience training – all without sight! The pups are thriving and even in this crazy, crumbled world, we’re finding our own slice of doggy delight. We ended the night with a howl at the moon, celebrating life as only the fun police know-how. Hugs and tail wags,

Sage aka Angel Face 🌟🐶🌇

Listen to the story here

There I was, the sightless sentinel of Spencerville, snuffling through the remnants of what once was a world bustling with humans. Now, in the wake of the great Cataclysm, it was just me, Sage, and the merry band of canine comrades, wandering, woofing, and taking over the town one paw step at a time.

They say that every mutt has its day, but in Spencerville, every day is for the mutts. And trust me, for a petite Australian Cattle Dog with no eyesight and no tail, that’s saying something.

As the sun heaved itself above the horizon, I lounged on my porch at Chihuahua Castle, which was surprisingly spacious despite the misleading name. Frodo, that rambunctious black brindle and white Boston Terrier, bounded up, his tail a comical flurry.

“Bella and Basil are at Doggy Donuts,” Frodo yapped, “You coming? They’ve got a new bear claw that’s the size of an actual bear’s paw!”

“You know I can’t resist their sweet rolls,” I replied, my taste buds virtually twirling in anticipation. Even more than sweet rolls, I adored our steadfast morning gatherings, a balm in post-apocalyptic times.

Without waiting further, we trotted off, the rubble beneath our paws a reminder of the world that lay in ruins around us. Not that I could see it, but my ears told me stories, my nose painted pictures. And really, doggonit, my imagination was better than any eyesight.

The Pupsicle Palace loomed next, always a frozen paradise in the wake of a crumbled society. Bindi, ever the ball of energy, was attempting to convince a Skye Terrier to try the liver-flavored ice cream.

“Come on, it’s pawsitively refreshing!” she insisted.

We indulged in the frosty treats, well, except for that picky Skye Terrier – some canines just don’t appreciate the finer things in life.

By midday, we had meandered over to the Pawfect Training Center. Here was where I really shined. “Sit! Stay! Play dead!” I hollered commands like a drill sergeant as Bella and Basil followed suit obediently. Being protective wasn’t just about staring down the face of danger; sometimes it was regulating a sit-and-stay like your life depended on it.

Post-apocalyptic or not, life in Spencerville thrived. We didn’t need fancy human achievements to carve out our happiness. Just a good fetch, a solid game of tug-of-war, and the comforting smells of those we loved. A bit of rain might send shivers down my spine, and sure, nothing tweaked my tail quite like the ghostly whir of a vacuum – but not much else could dampen my spirit.

In the evening, as the sun kissed the horizon with the color of Marigolds and Apricots, I sat outside the ruins of Pup ‘n’ Go Taco Joint. Reserved for us tonight was a soirée under the stars, a festivity of fur and howls to the moon, memorializing the world as we once knew it.

Scout, my progeny, nosed close to my side. His blue-black tan coat was the very image of the past and the promise of a future.

“Today was good, mom,” Scout said, a whiff of whimsy in his voice.

“Oh, it was. It was wag-worthy,” I replied, a smile clear in my tone. Spencerville may be a post-apocalyptic pup’s respite, but with my faithful litter, a joyous ball to chase, and the legends we were carving out, one could almost forget the chaos that had reigned before.

As the night closed in, soft snores filled Black Bulldog Bay. We were a tapestry of the lost and found, the survivors and revivers. This was a day in our lives, and by golly, it was a good life. A Spencerville life.

The End.