Hey, it’s Capone — the four-legged, unofficial mayor of Pawsburgh. After “The Barking,” me and my tail-wagging crew are sniffing out survival in a world that’s lost its leashes. Found a stash of joy at Ruby Rottweiler Ridge; a treasure of toys and food that’ll make tails wag for days. Wish you were here to toss a ball around, but for now, we stay paw-sitive and keep the pack spirit alive. Keep your snout to the wind, and remember, in this dog-eat-dog world, we’re the ones still barking. 🐾

Capone the Canine Survivor

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“Sundown burns copper over Pawsburgh, and here I am, Capone, pacing Sapphire Schnauzer Street with an anticipation that tightens my chest. The world’s gone topsy-turvy, you know? Ever since The Barking, that’s what we call it—the cataclysmic event that turned Pawsburgh into a desolate wasteland of ample fire hydrants and no masters to tell us ‘No! Bad dog!’ It’s a bone to chew on, a mixed treat bag of freedom and loneliness.

I’m not the mushy type, but loneliness can really gnaw on a bone, right? Chaotic as it is right now, I can’t help but remember the days at doggy daycare, the echoing barks, the scent of cookies…Ah, yes, Yellow squeaky ball! That was one yellow little fella I’d forever chase. But enough of that, the world’s changed, and it’s not the squeak of happiness I’m after, it’s survival—mine and my buddies.

Pointer Pier used to be the hub, a spot where tail wagging was the norm and the odor of Bulldog’s BBQ made the air heavy with promises of a full belly. Now it’s a quiet place, the scent of smoke a memoir of savory days. The planks groan beneath my paws, groans that speak the melancholy of empty stomachs and rumbly bellies that crave Labrador Lunch—gone are the days of taking a crumb-laden floor for granted.

We stick together, my furry gang and I. Dutch with his hackles like he’s ready to take on a pack of wild vacuums, Diamond with the spunk to dart into the shadows and back, Coco who’s the eyes with her snow-white fur stained from our new “rustic” life, and Red, strong and silent, watching over our makeshift Wolfpack with that resolute gaze. These are the paws I trust, the only ones this side of the apocalypse.

We’ve heard of a place, Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, once considered too steep, too wild. That’s where we’re headed. Legends speak of an old husky who hoarded mountains of kibble and treats at The Woofy Bakery before everything went south. Could be a tall tale, but my stomach’s ready to follow even the whispers of a ghost bone.

The night sang a howl as we trudged, a sky so full of stars it felt almost mocking. How can they shine so bright when there’s nothing but scraps and creaky silences down here? And oh, the silences… they’re the worst. You learn to fear the quiet, not the noise—noise means life, means a fellow nose to nuzzle.

Except, of course, when the noise means Crazies. What else could we call them, those poor dogs who lost their snouts to The Barking? No more cookies for them, only the hunt. They chase not out of play, but a hunger that’s not for food. We’ve dodged their snarls more than once, my pack and I.

We reached the Ridge by the grace of a gibbous moon casting his knowing light—that and Diamond’s uncanny sense to sniff out a Crazy at twenty paws away. There, beneath the husky’s statue, a golden key, weathered but unwavering, just like the resolve in our hearts.

We ventured in. The rumors were wrong about one thing; it wasn’t just kibble inside. Balls, ropes, toys of all colors—yes, even yellow—and cookies… Pawsburgh’s last stand against the loneliness.

The night came alive with our joy. It was bittersweet though, this feast of rediscovery, because in the end, I’d trade all the cookies in the world just to see my human once again. But until the sun rises on a new world, this little pack has cookies to eat, and that’s quite the story to share…if only we could tell them.”

The End.

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