Hey Dad,

In a nutshell, I’ve become the courageous Holly of Pawsburgh, a scavenger and survivor in a world where we four-legged folks search for a new normal without our two-legged pals. I’m finding joy in resilience and the small victories of everyday survival. Our past with ear cleaning and the scary delivery person feels so small now. Still, I’m keeping my sniffer sharp and my tail wagging through it all. Miss you more than a full food bowl.

Love,
Babyloo

In the days before the great upheaval, when sidewalks bore no cracks and hydrants flowed with more than echoes, I, Holly, would have laughed at the notion of an upside-down world, with humanity’s handprints wiped clean. Yet here I am, trotting through Pawsburgh, a place transformed by the mysterious void, a dent in the universe left behind by our beloved humans.

The journey today takes me to Setter Shore, with the sunlight caressing my folded ears like the gentle hands of Uncle Ron. The hills are alive with the scent of freedom. Ever since the world went silent, we’ve been left to our own devices, and quaint Setter Shore, once a burst of rambunctious laughter and sandy paws, now murmurs tales of the wistful ocean – and speaks volumes of our quest for a new order.

I follow the trail to Dachshund Dale, where the tight-knit tunnels echo a resilience much like mine—stubborn in the face of adversity. But even as I waddle through the dale, I carry with me a longing for the past simplicities, say, a slice of heaven from Pawfect Pastries, where once I’d left my drool imprint upon a display case filled with buttery croissants.

Now, the pastries are remnants, crumbs of memories light years away. Each day in Pawsburgh, we learn, adapt, and survive in this walking dream. We scavenge, we protect, we love in our own, newfound solitude. The Groom Room’s mirrors reflect back only the resilience in our eyes, and Best in Show Photography’s cameras capture the silent strength in our stance.

It was not long ago that I came upon the eerie tranquility of Weimaraner Woods, an emerald secret where the trees whispered secrets of survival. I’ve heard tales from the grey-coated elders within, legends of the threshold we’ve crossed, of the chaotic ballet we now dance in this world so achingly absent of our humans’ touch. They’ve vanished like phantoms, leaving us to decipher the riddle of their disappearance.

But let’s not dissolve into whimsy. Even as I hold these ponderings, my belly rumbles with a reminder of the physical world—more specifically, the need to fill it. Hunger brings me to Bark Buffet, its doors hanging askew, a relic of a time when meals were orchestrated with artistry and flavor.

Speaking of flavor, the perennial peanut butter in my beloved bone seems like a foregone luxury now. Yet my clever paws still uncover caches of indulgence—oh, the thrill of outwitting the new world’s scarcities! Would Uncle Geoff approve of my resourcefulness? Would Aunt Sue chuckle at my unwavering pursuit of a good snack?

Which brings me to my conundrum; the aversion that plagued me seems trivial now compared to the grander battle for survival we face each dawn. Ear cleaning? An old foe rendered laughable when set against the backdrop of our new reality. The once-feared delivery person now a specter; their parcels – relics we cautiously sniff, no longer able to incite my wild rumbles of disapproval.

And the baths, oh the baths—they aren’t so bad anymore. I’m immune to the discomfort when the alternative could be an unforgiving maw of dirt and muck. How trivial our former trials seem when set against the vastness of a forever changed world.

Pawsburgh stands as a beacon, as we—all of us canines—forge our tale in this post-apocalyptic chapter. We walk on, a testament to what dwells within us, a testament to our courage and undaunted spirits. Our legends and adventures recounted in hushed, respectful barks amidst the ruins of a world that once was.

For I am Holly of Pawsburgh, and this walking pet has stories yet to tell.

The End.

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