Hey Dad, it’s Russell here, aka Irving Bingbong. I’ve turned into quite the post-apocalyptic hero. From hustling for corned beef to chess matches with the sea, life’s not too shabby. Silent vacuums, ghost Vets- taken it all in stride. I guess being Spencerville’s top dog in this doomsday paradise keeps me on my toes. Miss you, hope you’re hoarding some treats for me. – Fat Russ

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There’s something about a brindle and white bulldog in Spencerville as distinguished as a cocktail at a gala. Trust me, I’ve seen his kind—stubborn as uncorked champagne and charming as the devil. Russell, that’s his name, that four-legged sophisticate with a snowy streak splitting his mug. Tells a story with his eyes, gleaming with mischief. He’s got his mates, Fenway and Spencer, proper shield and spear of their own right—but there’s more to it than that. Dogs vying for survival in a world somehow less chaotic than before everything went upside down.

At the break of dawn, my bulky brother from another mother and I explore the East Bulldog Bay. It’s practically prime real estate now, if you’re into that sort of thing. Russell, that stubborn, witty canine—eyes the horizon with a calculated gaze. It’s as if he’s playing chess with the sea. We’d venture into Lower Golden Gate Gardens for a moment’s respite. He’d sometimes chase the occasional spectral mouse there, Blue, his chariot of choice.

Food, oh-food, is no less a serious matter for us here. Russell loves a good corned beef like a starlet to her red carpet. Doggy Delight and Bone Appetit have become our refuges, haggling for scraps like some twisted barter system where tail wags decided trade deals. “No vegetables” – That’s Russell’s mantra as we wander between old haunts and newfound nooks.

Russell hates loneliness like a poet hates poverty. At South Siberian Summit, he could be found poring over the cliffside, terrier sibling Silly scampering about while he observed our ever-changing world. It’s endearing, almost, the bond they share. Laced with sharp wit and barked repartee.

Post-apocalyptic existence in Spencerville suits his bravado. The grating whir of non-existent vacuums, the terror of a phantom vet – he handles it with that stoic bulldog demeanor. There’s always danger lurking around, and yet, we find ways to wile away the days – Fetch! Toys and Treats have piqued Russell’s curiosity more than once. And as for the Pampered Pooch Salon, it’s an eerie reminder of a world that pampered its animals.

Life on this side has changed us but Russell, with his corned beef cravings and infinite love for Blue, has preserved his essence amidst the rubble of civilization. He has an infectious way about him, a jovial independence that shines even through this stark reality. He’s stubborn as they come, but when you’ve apprehended the apocalypse together, walking through the ruins has a charm of its own. You see, Russell isn’t just a dog. He’s Spencerville’s top dog, and if I’m being honest, he’s the best darn wingman this post-apocalyptic paradise could offer.

The End.

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