Buttermilk had been many things in her career as an influencer: fashion icon, snack connoisseur, accidental cult leader. But today, she was a general.
It started with one squirrel.
An ordinary Tuesday morning, Carlton sat on the balcony sipping lukewarm coffee from a mug that read "World's Okayest Dog Dad." Below, the city buzzed. Travis was asleep on the couch, curled around Buttermilk like a sleepy comma. The apartment was unusually peaceful.
Then came the scream.
"IT STOLE MY CROISSANT!"
Carlton blinked. A jogger down the block pointed in horror as a squirrel—not just any squirrel, but one with a suspiciously shiny acorn medallion around its neck—fled across the street holding a flaky, buttery croissant in its tiny paws.
Buttermilk leapt off the couch and onto the windowsill with the grace of a caffeinated goat. Her ears perked, her tail stiff like a lightning rod. She growled.
"Uh oh," Carlton muttered.
Travis stirred. "What's she—"
Buttermilk was gone, already out the doggy door, bounding down the stairs like vengeance on four legs.
---
The Outbreak
By mid-morning, the city had declared an unofficial squirrel emergency.
The furry creatures were no longer content with trash bins and park peanuts. They had evolved. They were organized.
Carlton watched in horror as a squad of squirrels formed a ladder using each other's bodies to steal a baguette from a third-story bakery window. One gave him a cheeky salute before leaping into the bushes.
Travis paced the living room. "Is this... retaliation? For the yoga mat line?"
"No," Carlton whispered, eyes wide. "This is war."
Buttermilk returned with a vengeance.
She carried a stick—no, a branch—like a warrior's baton. Her fur was wind-tousled, a scratch on her snout like a badge of honor. She barked once.
The followers had disbanded, sure, but the fanbase hadn't disappeared. Within an hour, Buttermilk's new post—captioned "I bark for peace. But I growl for justice."—went viral.
She had rallied a militia.
---
Operation Barkstorm
Travis and Carlton tried to intervene.
"She's a dog!" Travis pleaded as Buttermilk gave a silent nod to a pack of huskies in matching camo vests.
"She's our dog," Carlton added. "We have brunch plans!"
But it was too late. Buttermilk had donned her hoodie—now tattered for dramatic flair—and stood at the head of an impromptu canine coalition. The mission: reclaim the stolen snacks. Restore snack order to the city.
Carlton muttered, "This is going to get us sued by PETA."
From rooftops and fire escapes, squirrels stared back. Defiant. Fluffy. Ready.
And so it began.
---
The Battle of Barklyn Park
It wasn't a battle in the traditional sense. There were no casualties, just chaos.
Dogs barked. Squirrels squeaked.
A corgi named Muffin flanked the enemy. A golden retriever provided emotional support in the form of licks. Meanwhile, Buttermilk led the charge, leaping into a bush that rustled violently for three minutes before she emerged... victorious. With the croissant.
The park cheered.
Someone brought out a kazoo.
Carlton stood on a bench, live-streaming with shaky hands. "This is it. This is the moment our careers either skyrocket or implode."
Travis added commentary: "For those just joining, that's Buttermilk. Yes, the same Buttermilk who ended a cult. Yes, she is now leading a resistance against squirrel snack thieves. Welcome to our lives."
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A Peace Treaty
After the squirrels returned the majority of stolen goods—mostly half-eaten pastries and one unfortunate shoe—a truce was negotiated.
In a dramatic summit under the duck pond bridge, Buttermilk and the squirrel leader (later identified as "Chitters McSnatch") touched noses. Someone played Enya from a Bluetooth speaker.
Peace was declared.
A new Instagram story went up: Buttermilk licking peanut butter off a bagel.
Caption: Peace tastes delicious.
---
Aftermath
The news outlets went wild.
Local news ran with the headline: "DOG LEADS SNACK UPRISING, DEMANDS RESPECT."
A tabloid claimed Buttermilk was running for mayor. Another accused her of being a time traveler from the Treatocene Era.
Carlton turned off his phone.
"I'm done," he said. "I'm tapping out. Next week she's going to declare herself Queen of the Fire Hydrants."
"She already did," Travis said, holding up a tiny tiara he found in Buttermilk's bed.
They both sat on the couch, dazed.
Buttermilk, exhausted from battle, climbed onto the coffee table and plopped down on a fresh towel like a tiny war hero.
She sneezed once.
Travis smiled. "You earned it."
---
Later That Night
The city was calm. Squirrels retreated to their trees. Dogs went back to peeing on things.
Carlton tucked Buttermilk in with her favorite chew plush. "Please no more uprisings tomorrow."
She let out a soft snore.
The war was over.
For now.