Hey Mom! So, in a nutshell, I’m now a warrior princess fighting the dog-pocalypse. One minute I’m at The Barking Brunch with Tigger, the next, we’re dodging zombified Poodles like it’s a canine horror flick. Gathered supplies, teamed up with Giselle, and found a stash of chicken jerky. No worries though, we’re reclaiming Pawsburg one wag at a time. Love, Tink 🐾

“I don’t know exactly when the dog-pocalypse started, but I can tell you it was after my last McDonald’s Nugget—and before the ceremonial ear-cleaning that I like to pretend never happened. The humans say ignorance is bliss; I say ignorance is the reason I still have fur on my ears. Anyway, one minute I’m at The Barking Brunch with Tigger, nomming down a plate of chicken jerky, and the next, we’re running for our lives from zombified Poodles at Pinscher Plaza. Not the kind of surprise you want on a sunny Wednesday, let me tell you.

‘Bark! Tinkerbell!’ Tigger yipped, scampering ahead of me with his tail tucked. Tigger is like the Usain Bolt of dogs, except he’s got more leg hair and less gold medals. ‘We’ve gotta find a hideout! These mutts are everywhere!’

I glanced over my shoulder—a mistake, really—because there they were, slobbering and snarling, more interested in my tail than a cat with a laser pointer. I could feel my heart throbbing in my chest, and we sprinted until we ducked into a ransacked storefront. The Pawfect Training Center had seen better days; leashes were scattered everywhere, and the chew toys were in worse shape than a squeaky duck after a teething Beagle.

‘We need a plan,’ I huffed, dropping my beloved, albeit slightly chewed, tennis ball to the floor. It rolled away, coming to a stop under a pile of shredded newspaper. ‘Maybe we can gather supplies at Labrador Lunch.’

Tigger nodded, panting. ‘And find some other non-zombified canines. Strength in numbers, right?’

‘Right,’ I said. But let’s just say I had a better chance convincing my mom to let me drive her car than getting a scared dog to listen right now. Still, we were determined.

Sneaking through Kelpie Keys, we found a moment of solace. I confess, I did daydream momentarily of swimming here again, water droplets flying as I paddle with abandon. But the peace didn’t last long. The tell-tale growls echoed from behind the abandoned boats bobbing in the eerie, still waters.

‘Over here!’ I whispered, darting into The Barking Boutique. An elegant, if slightly ruffled, Afghan Hound named Giselle was hiding behind a counter adorned with scattered collars and treats. ‘Giselle, thank dog you’re okay! Join us! We’re heading to Labrador Lunch to regroup.’

‘Oh, Tinkerbell, darling!’ she said, her sleek fur disheveled but eyes unmistakably bright. ‘Fetching supplies sounds fab. Lead the way, love.’

As we zigzagged through the debris, what was left of Pinscher Plaza came into view. Once bustling with the sound of click-clacking nails and joyous barks, it now lay in near silence, save the occasional growls of a lurking zombie-dog. We snuck past the Paw Pad Thai, my tummy rumbling—fighting zombie dogs on an empty stomach is no fun. But soon, we saw our salvation: Labrador Lunch.

We pushed through the swinging doors, nearly tripping over an escaped meat patty. Inside, we found an intact stash of chicken jerky and McDonald’s Nuggets. Finally, some good luck.

As I chomped down on my nugget, relishing every fried morsel, I turned to Tigger and Giselle. It wasn’t just about survival; it was about holding on to the things that made us, well, dogs. The wag of a tail, the joy of a jerky treat, and the thrill of a tennis ball retrieved.

‘This dog-pocalypse doesn’t stand a chance,’ I said, a stubborn glint in my eye. ‘Not with us on the case.’

And so, with full bellies and renewed determination, we set off, ready to reclaim Pawsburg from the undead masses. Because if there’s one thing a dog’s born to do, it’s to show the world what real loyalty looks like—even when faced with the barking dead.”

The End.