Hey, Mom! Just wanted to let you know I’ve been keeping everyone safe and happy on this adventure. There were lots of tail wags, a few heroic barks, and plenty of belly rubs! All in a day’s work for your Lulu Belle!

Much love,
Lulu Belly Boo

I had just finished sauntering the length of Setter Shore, my paws sinking deliciously into the granulated earth, the echo of earlier waves still whispering lullabies in the dark. You see, Pawsburg wasn’t your typical sunny canine hangout; it had turned into a deserted ghost town ever since the Cat Apocalypse. ‘Felines, I tell you,’ I muttered to my reflection in a puddle, as if reprimanding my newfound paranoia.

They had taken everything—our parks, our treats, and most importantly, our peace. The revered Barking BBQ lay in ruins, its scent of smoked meats now a distant memory, overtaken by the rotting stench of post-apocalyptic desolation.

Yet, even in this adversity, I remained vigilant, walking with the ease and confidence of a dog who knew these streets like the back of her paw.

“Lulu Belle!” called a familiar voice, and I turned to see Tanner, my brother, trotting toward me, his tail whipping the air like a celebratory flag. He was panting but carried an unmistakable look of excitement.

“What is it, Tanner?” I asked, my curiosity piqued despite the intense distrust I had for anything that interrupted my crate time.

“News from Pyrenean Peak,” he wheezed, struggling to catch his breath, “The gang’s all meeting there. They claim there’s a solution—a magic bone. Aggressive cats have no business chasing such enlightened creatures such as ourselves!”

Intrigued and partially convinced, I joined him on the trek uphill. We moved quietly past Samoyed Square where shattered shop signs from Critter’s Couture swayed ominously, creaking like old bones. Memories of paw-print fashion and accessory fittings felt like children’s tales. During quieter times, not so long ago, my days involved tugging at a musical stuffed animal in my crate. The vibrations of its mechanical songs now seemed like lullabies from a faraway, innocent land.

“We’ll need sustenance,” Tanner remarked, as we detoured to the ruins of Setter’s Steakhouse. Despite the debris, the delectable aroma of charred steaks lingered. I managed to scavenge a few grape tomatoes, my favorite treat from happier days, gobbling them up with a mix of nostalgia and urgency.

Finally, we reached the peak where our comrades had already gathered. Husky and Boxer, infamous for their rough-housing and digging skills, sat impatiently while Doberman laid out our plans. The magic bone, they said, would restore Pawsburg to its former glory if buried at the heart of Samoyed Square.

“But what’s the catch?” I queried, skepticism clouding my usual brave curiosity. “There’s always a catch.”

“The delivery cats,” Boxer replied, his voice choked with disdain as he twitched involuntarily.

A hush fell over our group. Those delivery cats: once harmless service suppliers, now the cunning generals in this sinister feline army. “We’ll need a sacrifice,” Husky grumbled. “Someone to distract them while we uncover and retrieve the bone.”

The air hung heavy with his implication, my protective instincts surging forward. “I’ll do it,” I volunteered, surprising even myself. Loyal and vigilant to Pawsburg, sure, but I also had my reputation: independent and yes, sometimes aggressive. This could redeem us all, and besides, my name was Lulu Belle, not Lulu Coward.

We drew up our strategy under the guise of twilight and moved with synchronized precision. As planned, I broke off, making noise to draw out any lurking cats. My heart pounded, but the thought of sharing this adventure with Mom—well, more like convincing her it was an elaborate doggy dream—pushed me on.

“Over here, you sorry tabbies!” I barked, watching in triumphant vigilance as my team dug and unearthed the magic bone. Tanner’s face lit up like a Christmas tree when he held it aloft, and for a split second, I almost forgot the dark clouds looming over our once-bright Pawsburg.

We regrouped at The Pyrenean Peak, the bone secured, the cats outwitted and momentarily bested. Tomorrow, Pawsburg would begin its slow return to majesty. There would be sunbathing, crate napping, and musical toys once more.

And this brave Maltipoo? Well, I’d still take food from Tanner—but it would be a heroic nibble indeed.