Hey there, Human!

Chloe here – your carrot-crunching, sass-wielding mini heroine! Just wanted to share that Cush and I have turned Pawsburg into our very own wild kingdom. We’ve braved the overgrown bowers of dogdom, sniffed out veggie jackpots in apocalyptic pharmacies, and now we’re the proud rulers of our un-human world. Cush might love his odd tomato, but for me, it’s all about those divine orange crunches. Who knew the end of days would be so tasty?

Stay pawsome, and remember me when you see a carrot,

~ Queen Chlo of Carrotopia 🥕👑

I was there when the world as we knew it went to the dogs. Literally. One day, our humans went out to work—and just never came back. In the aftermath, they called it “The Great Vanishing.” Pawsburg became less of a sneaky getaway and more a peculiar sanctuary where the alleys echoed with barks rather than banter.

My name’s Chloe, and I’ve become somewhat of a legend here. I’m a Mini Dachshund with a dash of sass and a love for carrots that borders on religious zeal. Cush, my Husky compadre with a heart of gold and a brain of, well, let’s say mush, has tagged along beside me. We met when we were just pups with our humans clinking their coffee mugs above us like gods of Olympus.

Now, in this strangely silent world, Cush and I wander the ruins of Pawsburg, weaving through Pomeranian Park where the once-pristine flowerbeds have gone wild, a riot of colors exploding onto pathways. “We should’ve brought a map,” Cush comments every time, and I just roll my eyes. Maps were never his treat of choice.

We usually avoid Basenji Bay, what with the water lapping greedily at the shore, mocking my aqua-phobia. But it’s on Whippet Way where life remains a semblance of normal—the restaurants, though empty of dogs flipping burgers, still hum with the aroma of bygone days. Rottweiler’s Ribs is particularly eerie, racks of bones lying untouched, a vegetarian’s nightmare.

The old favorites like Dog’s Delicacies now serve as meeting spots where we dogs plan our next scavenges. The great irony is, the one delicacy I yearned for—a bright, crunchy carrot—became as rare as a cat at a kennel club. All I’ve got to nod off with is my stuffed lambchop, still silent, still comforting.

One muggy evening, as the two of us trotted past the abandoned whimsy of Best in Show Photography, Cush suddenly halted, nose sniffing the air with such ferocity, you’d think his nostrils were auditioning for a prime time show. “Do you smell that?” he whispered, his voice wiry with tension.

I inhaled deeply, and there it was—the unmistakable scent of…fresh produce. My ears perked up, and despite the gathering darkness, we followed the trail, which led us to the most surreal sight. The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy had become an overrun garden of Eden: vegetables cascading over pharmacy shelves, fruits dangling amid the medical tomes.

“It’s a miracle,” I breathed, my voice echoing amid the carrots fanning out like the tentacles of some great orange starfish. There must’ve been a seed display somewhere in there, and nature, undisturbed by human hands, had taken its course. The carrots were plump, perfect. If there were a heaven, I was convinced this was it.

Cush pawed at a ripe tomato, rolling it around while his tail spun a yarn of its own. But I couldn’t tear myself away from the carrots. My teeth sank into the first bite; the crunch was a symphony, the taste a sonnet.

We’ve found reprieve in this apocalyptic world, and while I’ve battled bravely against the unstoppable forces of the Vacuum (may it rest in peace), unearthed the oddest of creatures from beneath the sofa, and faced down the ungodly perils of bath time, none compare to the adventure that unfolded this day.

The night’s canvas stretches out before us stars like diamonds scattered across. In our post-apocalyptic Pawsburg, it’s not just about survival—it’s about living. And as I curl up next to Cush, I realize, for good or ill, we, the walking pets, are the new masters of this world.

The End.

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