The morning after the Great Pancake Incident began, as all Buttermilk-related incidents inevitably did: with Carlton screaming.
"She's in the fridge again! Travis, she's in the fridge!"
Travis stumbled into the kitchen, hair sticking out in all directions like he'd slept inside a tornado. "Whuzzat?" he mumbled.
Carlton pointed, shaking. "She opened the fridge and is sitting inside. She's just... in there. With the yogurt."
Sure enough, Buttermilk sat serenely on the middle shelf of the fridge like a dairy queen, tongue lolling, surrounded by artisanal goat cheese and a suspiciously large tub of hummus.
Travis blinked. "She looks comfortable. Should we be worried?"
Buttermilk sneezed onto a bundle of cilantro, then wagged her tail.
Carlton sighed. "She's asserting dominance. This is a breakfast power play."
A Brunch to Remember
Despite the chaos, Sunday brunch was a sacred ritual in their apartment. Ever since Buttermilk's influencer rise, their weekends had become increasingly structured around dog-friendly cuisine. Travis had even bought a cookbook titled Pawsitively Delicious: Brunch for You and Your Best Friend.
"Okay," Travis announced, clapping his hands. "Today's menu: banana-oat pupcakes for the queen, sweet potato hash for us, and a side of existential dread if Meatloaf knocks over the juicer again."
Meatloaf, Buttermilk's occasionally bewildered golden retriever best friend, groaned from under the couch. The juicer had wronged him once. He did not forgive.
Carlton, meanwhile, was setting the table with eco-friendly bamboo plates shaped like paw prints. "You realize this has gotten completely out of control, right?"
"You say that every Sunday," Travis replied. "And yet here we are. Living the dream."
A knock interrupted their culinary preparations.
Carlton opened the door cautiously.
Outside stood a man in a robe, holding what appeared to be a pineapple carved with Buttermilk's face.
"I have brought tribute," the man said solemnly.
Carlton closed the door slowly. "Nope. Not again."
"Was it Barka?" Travis called.
Carlton turned to face him. "It was like... Barka-adjacent. Maybe a spinoff sect."
Travis sighed. "I thought they disbanded."
"They did. But you know cults. Like glitter. You can never get rid of all of it."
---
Dogfluencer Drama
After brunch, Travis checked Buttermilk's Instagram.
"Okay," he said, scrolling, "we've got a problem."
Carlton looked up from scrubbing beet juice off the walls. "What now?"
"Someone posted a callout thread. Claims Buttermilk is... 'too commercial' now. That her third eye has been 'sponsored by peanut butter brands.'"
Carlton stared at him. "...What?"
"There's a hashtag. #UnfollowTheFur."
Buttermilk looked up from chewing a plush avocado. The side-eye she gave the phone could've cut glass.
Travis scrolled further. "And apparently there's a rival rising. A teacup Pomeranian named Gingersnap who 'only eats foraged berries and preaches minimalist barking.'"
Carlton leaned back in his chair. "We're in a spiritual influencer turf war."
Meatloaf howled mournfully.
---
Rebranding in Progress
That evening, the team held a crisis meeting. It involved a whiteboard, three kinds of herbal tea, and Buttermilk in a velvet cape.
"We need to go back to our roots," Carlton said. "Less enlightenment, more authentic fluff."
Travis nodded. "Like... Buttermilk just being a dog. A goofy, fridge-sitting, cheese-loving dog."
They stared at the whiteboard. It read: Phase One: Embrace the Chaos.
"Maybe she should destroy something on camera," Travis offered. "People love a scandal."
Buttermilk belched.
Carlton scribbled authentic flatulence = relatability.
---
The Comeback Video
The next day, they posted a reel titled: BUTTERMILK UNLEASHED: No Filters, Just Fur.
It featured:
Buttermilk stealing a grilled cheese
Buttermilk falling into a laundry basket
Buttermilk barking at her own reflection for eight minutes straight
At the end, she farted dramatically and walked away.
Caption: "The only thing Buttermilk worships... is snacks."
It went viral in three hours. #FartfulDodger trended globally.
Even Gingersnap's account commented: "Respect."
---
Return to Normal (Sort Of)
By the end of the week, things were mostly back to normal. The Barka followers had transitioned into a book club. The rival cult was now selling handmade leashes on Etsy.
Carlton stood on the balcony, sipping oat milk chai. "Do you think this will ever actually be normal again?"
Travis looked at Buttermilk, now asleep in a flower pot, tail twitching.
"Probably not," he said. "But at least we've got snacks."
Carlton raised his mug. "To snacks."
Buttermilk snored loudly.
Somewhere in the distance, Meatloaf knocked over the juicer.