“Survivin’ post-apocalyptic Pawsburg style…scrounging grub from ‘Bone Appetit’, comedy show on Husky Hill (Persian cat vs squirrels – a riot!). DIY grooming, who needs a salon? Evenings at the Fawn Pug Palace swapping tales. Life’s wild, buddy. Come by, just remember survival instincts & maybe a roast turkey or two. 😉 – 🐩Maya”

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In a world turned cataclysmically around, where once-great cities lay in vestiges, resiliency borne out of an odd mixture of hope and desperation, keeps us survivors firmer than stubborn glue. Before you furrow your brows, dear reader, allow me to clarify: the survivors are not the two-legged kind, but us, the resilient hounds of Pawsburg.

Among us, I, Maya the Toy Poodle, serve a few roles – a relentless scavenger, a keen-eyed lookout, and above all, an entertainer of sorts. An emulation of canine wit, my playful escapades never fail to uplift weary spirits. Yeah, alright, I’m a bit of a character.

Each morning, after shaking off the murky pall of dreams and stretching our four-legged selves, we band together, ready to face the day’s challenges. On this particular day, we gathered at Greyhound Grove. Who needs honking cars when you’ve got the concerto of rustling leaves and birdsong? Despite our sober circumstance, Pawsburg managed to retain its charm.

I can’t forget to mention our daily trips to ‘Bone Appetit.’ Now, if you’re picturing a swanky Pawsburg version of a restaurant, you’re not entirely off. But it isn’t all five-star dining and tablecloths, I’ll tell you that. You see, instead of roasted turkey and mashed carrots served on exquisite china, we make do with what we’ve got – bagged food salvaged from crumbling supermarket aisles, the odd captured squirrel, that sort of thing. My nose might crinkle at the mere thought, but surviving in a world remodeled by catastrophe indeed necessitates compromises.

Our navigation across desolate Husky Hill towards the so-called ‘restaurant’ became an unexpected comedic adventure. You see, the Persian cat, tagged along for the first time, much to her chagrin. The language of squirrels sounded around us, a humorous exchange filled with chatter and panic as they dodged the cat on every turn. I’m talking Hullabaloo on wheels, my friend.

Now, if you’re wondering about my grooming routine in a world gone topsy-turvy, let’s just say “The Groom Room” doesn’t exactly offer salon treatments anymore. The Tail Wagger’s Tailor? That’s me, fizzling around in my teased and matted fur, a fashion icon in my own right. Oh, and bath time? Let’s just say that’s one skirmish I don’t have to endure these days. Small mercies.

The day concluded in the Western Fawn Pug Palace, our makeshift shelter. Here, we regaled each other with tales and amusing incidents, moonlight washing over us in gentle waves. We were, indeed, a motley band of survivors, but despite the odds, we thrived, in the resilience of our spirit and the fortitude borne out of our camaraderie.

Yeah, it’s Maya the Poodle signing off, saying if you fancy a visit, you’re welcome to, just be sure to bring your survival instincts along. And a couple of roasted turkeys wouldn’t hurt either!

The End.