Hey Mom,

In case you were wondering, I’ve become the unlikely hero of Pawsburgh post-Biscuit Blight. No more BBQ or boutiques, just me and my new sidekick, Lila, sniffing out hope and hidden kibble stashes among vacant vibes and past delights. Together, we’re dining like fallen kings and shaping our feral future—one wag at a time. The fetch-quest continues tomorrow!

Stay fluffy,
Zeus 🐾

You know, some days I swear the skies of Pawsburgh are painted with a different brush—crimson and scarlet, where once they were a brilliant blue. That was before, though, before the Biscuit Blight, they call it. A disaster that crumbled society like a stale treat between the paws of fate. I’m Zeus, by the way; perhaps you’ve heard of me—from tales whispered down the alleyways of Newfoundland Nook or sung softly by the Spaniel Springs.

I remember when the first signs of trouble left their scent on the wind. One by one, the delights vanished—Bulldog’s BBQ, Whippet Wraps, even Chihuahua’s Chimichangas, they all shut down. Fetch! Toys and Treats boarded up, and The Snooty Snout Boutique, where once I fancied the latest in collars, was no more than a memory.

Now, as I pace through the ghostly quiet of Cocker Courtyard, my guardianship nature is the currency of survival. Stray wrappers tumble past like phantoms, relics of a world that spent too long at play, forgetting that even in Pawsburgh, twilight must fall.

I stand watch over the silent storefronts and eateries with cropped ears perked, my brindle coat muddied, my imposing visage slipping—a crack in my armoured exterior. I muse how I’d give up all the chicken nuggets in the world just to find a single well-placed hot dog now. But those were treats of a bygone era; now, I find solace in simple finds—a durable deer antler to gnaw, a semblance of peace.

There’s a rustle, a moment of alert. Emerging from the shadows is Lila, a scrappy Corgi with more courage than size. You’d think the end of days would weary a soul, but not her; the spry in her step is undeterred.

“Come on, old boy,” she beckons with a spark in her gaze. “The Spaniel Springs! They say there’s a secret stash of kibble, preserved and just waiting!”

It’s been long since I’ve seen such hope, yet hope glimmers in her like the last star before dawn. Perhaps, I muse, she’s worth my trust.

So off we trot, her high spirits contagiously lifting my stride, through hollowed-out alleys and past the specter of Happy Hounds Dog Walking—a relic of days filled with jollity and wagging tails. And to think I once found the tap-tapping of rain on my backyard refuge to be the pinnacle of my displeasures.

At last, we arrive at Spaniel Springs, the air suddenly alive with whispers of nostalgia, and Lila wasn’t spinning tales. There, beneath a hidden hatch, we find it—a bunker laced with the scent of a thousand meals. There’s an air of reverence as I look at Lila, grateful for an ally in this desolate new world.

“Now, don’t go thinking this means we’re pals,” I gruff with mock sternness, but a wag of my tail betrays me, and she knows it. We dine like kings of a fallen kingdom, filling our bellies as we prepare for the rebuild.

To think, I once feared the roar of the vacuum, the chill grasp of rain. Now, I face a world stripped of convenience, a life where uncertainty prowls beyond every corner. But, beneath the ruins of Pawsburgh, my heart remains unyielding. I am Zeus, a guardian, a symbol of hope—a companionship wrapped in muscle and might.

And as twilight beckons me back to “Mom”, I carry with me the stories of a day spent salvaging joy from the jaws of oblivion. My kingdom now extends beyond my backyard; it rises through determination and the strength of newfound kinship in the ashes of the world we once knew.

Here’s to the new Pawsburgh, through trials and rain, we will wag on.

The End.