“Morning, Dad. Dug myself out of the laundry bed, survived another morning in sunlight-struck Pawsburg. Caught up with Lilly, fetched Grogu with Baker and Rosie. Remember Golden Gate Gardens? We still roam there, paying homage to yesterday, missing tomorrows. Dined on Gus’s corned beef – like a touch of home, you always said. Ended the day at Bullmastiff Boardwalk, chasing my red jolly ball. Life’s different now, but I’m okay, Dad, we’ve learnt to cope. We find joy and remember to honour the missing ones. Pawsburg is tattered but we’re still going strong, in our own doggy way. – Wilmont”

Listen to the story here

I woke up with a start as the rays of sunrise streamed through the cracks and dust-laden remains of what was once my master’s sleek skyscraper apartment. I rolled off my makeshift bed, a comforting pile of familiar smelling laundry, and let out a gentle, resigned groan as the growl of my stomach reminded me, if it had gone unnoticed, of my morning routine.

The dogs of Pawsburg all had stories. Some had owners who had turned into memories, and some, like me, simply pretended that their owners were just out of town.

“Pawsburg, you little haven,” I muttered with a slight chuckle. It’s not too often, you see, that you find a post-apocalyptic town bustling with tattered dogs and chewed-up cats, but still, it somehow worked.

“Off to The Doggy Bagel Deli this morning, Albert?” chirped Lilly, cocking her tiny head from across the room. Lilly had always been an early bird, not that there were many real birds to chase around anymore.

“Oh, it’s too early for your sharp wit, Lilly,” I grunted back, a remnant of the old world’s playful banter.

After stopping by Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store to pick up a well-loved Grogu toy, Baker, Lil Rosie and I were off. Thankfully, the remains of their favorite pet store had survived the mayhem, providing us with ample alternatives for playtime.

Despite the devastation and desolation, the green expanse of Golden Gate Gardens had maintained its allure. We often held court here, under a charred but strong tree, reminiscing about days gone past, and more often than not, silently mourning the loss of our tomorrows.

As dusk descended, we would return to our corners. I’d often wander into Chow Down Chow Chow, where Gus still managed to conjure up some make-shift corned beef, my favorite, and as my old man always used to say, “a touch of home in a dish.”

I’d always end my day at the Bullmastiff Boardwalk. Gazing at the broken yet sublime horizon, I’d retrieve my red jolly ball from its hiding spot, a poignant symbol of the dog I used to be and the dog I had become.

The dogs in Pawsburg learned to cope and find solace in their friendships and routines. Laugh and play during the day, and late into the night, we would hang our heads in silent honour of those missing from our fold.

I am Albert, and I may be just a dog in a world flipped upside down, but in this tattered Pawsburg I am the embodiment of hope, survival and resilience. Life moves on. May be not the way we imagined, but it does. It always does.

The End.