Hey Mom,

Imagine me, Little Fish, as the secret hero of Pawsburgh! I’ve been scavenging for gourmet dog-truffles, nose-twitching at mysteries, and paw-deep in canine politics. My sidekick Gizmo is back, and we’re reshaping doggy society! Tail wags and adventure await! 🐾

Licks & wags,
Mattie 🐶💖

I never much liked the idea of the world ending. Too much fuss. But fuss became as common as fleas when the Big Shake-Up came about, and here I was, a Chihuahua, facing the new world of Pawsburgh, post-apocalypse. Mind you, not the human apocalypse – they’re on their own – but the dog’s version. No more humans, no more kibble (not that I missed it). These cataclysmic changes split the dog world into before and after. Before was all tail wags and chew toys; after is us trying to figure out what the woof to do next.

So, now when humans sleep or leave (as they often do, the inattentive creatures), we make the leap to Pawsburgh, our sanctuary amongst the chaos. I must say, our realm has remained splendidly intact. Mastiff Meadows, still lush; Affenpinscher Avenue has never been busier; and Chestnut Cocker Courtyard, well, let’s say it has seen better days, but it’s ours—teeming with life and barkworthy spirit.

It was just another twilight when I (the indomitable Mattie, remember?) found myself trotting down the once-cobbled road laid by tail-wagging ancestors, now a bit more… rubble-ish. My destination, you ask? Pet Partners Pet Supplies. “Just popping over to the shop,” I’d say to myself, mimicking what the humans used to utter.

The Pooch Playhouse was en route, and what used to be a vibrant haven for houndish hubbub was now eerily silent. “Catastrophe doesn’t daunt us,” I nosed the air, my whiskers twitching. It smelled faintly of heroism—or was that Canine Kabobs? Hard to tell when your senses are as acute as mine.

I made a pit stop at Puppy Patisserie, no longer just for the dainty pups. Their dog-truffles now held a blend of the old world’s flavors: I even fancied I tasted a hint of the forbidden human delicacy, the clam. Delightful. The chef, a poodle with a flair for dramatics, handed me a watermelon biscuit. I gobbled it gratefully, watermelon being my particular weakness.

As I trotted on, memories of Gizmo, my overly-furry compatriot, frolicked through my mind. He’d been oddly absent these past moons. The notion that I’d face this brave new world without him gnawed at me more than the time I discovered the tastelessness of kemmon cookies.

Upon reaching Pet Partners Pet Supplies, I dug through the remnants of what were once lavish displays of squeakers and leashes. There it was, the last bag of Arby’s roast beef flavored treats—still sealed, as if waiting for me. You’d think in this age of canine enlightenment, we’d stock beyond human mimicry, but one takes comfort where it’s found.

Sudden movement lured my gaze outside. There, Gizmo, scrappy as the day is long, stood in what remained of Chestnut Cocker Courtyard. Our reunion was nothing short of conventionally epic. We leaped, we licked, and lamented over the latest gossip as dogs do.

“My dearest Queen of the Backyard Realms,” he began. Yes, he’s overly formal, but I allow it. “The council needs you. There’s talk. Talk of restructuring, rebuilding—”

“What, like fixing Affenpinscher Avenue?” I interjected.

“Far bigger, Mattie,” he said with a glint in his werewolfish eyes. “We’re laying down a new law, a code for this new era. And, well… you’re the bravest dog I know.”

Bravest, eh? Maybe I was. Or maybe I was just a Chihuahua with an appetite for storytelling. Either way, I felt that familiar itch in my paws—an adventure calling me. So with my companion by my side, we set off to stamp our paws on the fresh pages of Pawsburgh’s history.

Because, even in a post-apocalyptic world, dogs need their tales. And let it be known that Mattie’s tale, was only just beginning.

The End.

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