Hey there, Grams. It’s your favourite Marley Moo checking in. Life in Pawsburg has gone bananas – the world had a whoopsie. But fear not, we’re adapting with grit and wagging tails. Surviving, rebuilding, and sneaking treats when we can. Can’t wait to see you soon and tell you all about it. *Tail Wag* Marley Moo

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Life in Pawsburg. It’s not exactly as they show in those human movies, y’know, where we’re all chasing our tails and drooling over bones. Nah, Pawsburg is its own cosmos, a jaunty realm where the pedestrian canines like myself dash through the mundane days like a weasel in a hen house.

Friends? Yeah, I got a few. Aristocratic types, labradors, terriers, even a rogue bulldog. Luna with her distributed energy, Syd with his ever grinning face, and then there’s Penny Lane, my ladylove. But that’s a saga for another night.

Tonight is about me, Marlin the Goldador, and my ongoing saga against the world that so abruptly shifted on its axis. One minute we were running on the sands of Upper Black Bulldog Bay, the next, well… it’s not so simple, not after that damned Apocalypse.

You see, Pawsburg was close to heaven. Until the catastrophe, the humans ignored our nocturnal flings. I mean, who’d believe a city counsel made of canines, biweekly singing contests at East Pug Palace, or tucking into a haunch of last summer’s leftover turkey at K9 Kebabs?

Hey, don’t get me wrong! I love my humans. Just as I can’t ignore my infatuation with my peanut butter kong—I am, after all, no saint—so are these evening escapades near and dear to my hound heart. They say it’s the small pleasures, or was it the simple ones? Doesn’t matter, I guess.

The world broke, shattering into a million shards like those vases I used to knock over as a pup. Tremors and smoke—you should’ve seen it! These sophisticated paws—I mean, that manicure at Spa for Paws isn’t cheap—scattered in the chaos, leaving Pawsburg crushed beneath the fallen stars.

But, you know what they say. “Dog is a creature of hope.” Or is that humans? Anyway…

We survived, shaken, but not out. Maybe we couldn’t cadge at The Bark Shak or groom at The Canine Cafe, but we were breathing, and it’s as they say, “Where there’s a wag, there’s a way.”

Survivors? Yeah, we’re full of ’em in Pawsburg. Dogs scuffling for leftovers, forshaken kennels… rebuilding is not easy when the order of a peanut butter kong is replaced with scraps of unwanted lettuce and tomatoes. But here we are, undeterred, building our haven one paw at a time.

Call me an optimist, but I believe that one day, we’ll fetch under the open skies again, sack out at East Pug Palace or enjoy caviar-ladden kibble at Paws On The Grill.
Post-apocalyptic Pawsburg may be a challenge, but hey, isn’t that what makes life worth living? The chase, the struggle, the comeback; it’s no different than a lively wrestling session or a chase with friends.

So here I am, Marlin surviving against odds, striving to restore this realm that was our haven. What dog worth his slobber wouldn’t desire that quest of a lifetime?

The End.

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