Hey there! Zuna here, reporting from Pawsburgh—possibly the wildest, squishiest dog park in the afterlife. Imagine me, not just chasing balls, but chasing truths, no leash on my thoughts (or my collar). Food’s great, companionship’s better, and the Ridge gave me a whole new ‘leash’ on life. Remember, sometimes being a ‘good dog’ is just being yourself. Wags and barks! 🐾 #ZunaTheEternalHound

So it goes, I found myself in Pawsburgh, which isn’t a bad spot if you’ve got an eternity to spend and a penchant for sniffable adventures. The whole afterlife business caught me by the tail – one minute I’m chasing ethereal squirrels in heavenly fields, the next I’m strolling through the bustling streets of Spaniel Springs.

I am Zuna, by the way—charming, whimsical, and currently on an afterlife quest to betwixt and outwit the very notion of “being a good dog.” My, my. If Jasper could see me now, he’d laugh, I reckon, the way humans do when they’re both perplexed and amused.

But back to Pawsburgh. It’s a peculiar sort of place. No humans. No leashes. Infinite fire hydrants. And here I am, eager to be better—even if no one’s around to pat my head or say, “Who’s a good girl?”

It was essential to start with food, so naturally, I trotted to Pup’s Poutine. Funny how, without a human’s tut-tut, I could gobble all the bacon I wanted. No carrots in sight, thank the dog stars. The great Vonnegut might have chuckled at this indulgence, a satire of freedom and bacon.

Back at Maplewood Park on Earth – bless that sacred ground – life was simpler. I’d play, Jasper would throw balls that were certainly real, and I could sniff a derrière without existential ponderings.

Then, who should I run into but Max, the drool king himself. A gentle humph. “Care to join me on a jaunt to Ruby Rottweiler Ridge?” he asked, wearing sincerity like a second fur coat. Apparently, elevation did wonders for one’s perspective—even in the afterlife.

We ambled, for time is a chew toy here, through Terrier Town, tails wagging with uncertainty. Could one become a better dog here? No scolding for dirty paws, no yanks on collars for an inadvertent chase…

Ah, the freedom, the unbridled joy, the endless squeaky toys at The Doggy Depot—my heart-shaped patch over the ear must have pulsated with euphoria. Old Gus had said, “It’s not what you chase, Zuna, but how you chase it.”

At the crest of Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, I looked down at the quilt of Pawsburgh. A surreal masterpiece. A canine cosmos. A peculiar analogy came to mind; we pups were like Slaughterhouse-Five’s Tralfamadorians, seeing in four dimensions, unperturbed by beginnings or ends.

Max, though prone to monologues on chew bone philosophies, mused, “Zuna, we’re good—not by deed or affirmation, but simply by being.”

Did he just out-Vonnegut me? Maybe the old dog had a point though. In this afterlife place, maybe the goal wasn’t to be better in obedience, but to be true.

I didn’t need Jasper’s validating voice. I didn’t require the red ball’s affirmation. I was Zuna, tale-teller, bacon lover, eternal hound of Spaniel Springs.

And so, I descended the ridge, contemplation my newfound playmate. I’d wade into the springs, my paws scripting tales in the sand. Perhaps, I’d pen a doggy memoir—”The Unearthed Chronicles of Zuna: Infinite Barks.”

Sure, some might say an old dog can’t learn new tricks. But here in Pawsburgh, I’d wager even Vonnegut would agree – in the afterlife’s divine dog park, we each create our fetch-worthy narrative.

So it goes…

The End.

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