It all began on a Wednesday, a day that felt like something big was meant to happen. The kind of day where clouds part, the sun shines dramatically through the blinds, and a husky named Athena stretches her long, graceful legs like she’s warming up for greatness.
She was lounging regally on a mountain of blankets she'd stolen from three different rooms, one paw elegantly crossed over the other, her nearly white-blue eye fixed on the television screen while the other, that warm, soulful chestnut, squinted with judgment. On the screen, a corgi in tiny sunglasses was being fed whipped cream from a golden spoon while disco music played.
“This,” Athena said aloud to no one in particular, “should be me.”
Obito, her younger, clumsier, larger-than-life brother, was lying nearby with his tongue out and his back leg twitching, dreaming of bacon. When Athena leapt gracefully over the coffee table (because walking around furniture is for peasants), she startled him so badly he rolled off the couch like a sack of potatoes and landed with a whumph.
“Obito,” she declared, standing tall with her tail curled in royal confidence, “we're going viral.”
He blinked up at her with sleepy eyes and a goofy smile, one ear inside out. “...Like a rash?”
“No, you gloriously large idiot. Internet viral. Like the corgi. We’ll become famous. Icons. Influencers of the dog world.” She paused for effect. “Dogfluencers.”
Obito licked her nose in response. “Do I get snacks?”
“You’ll get so many snacks,” she said. “But first we need content.”
Athena decided to start simple: a “chic outfit of the day” reel. She found a lavender hoodie from the laundry basket (which she assumed had been tailored just for her) and began the grueling process of putting it on.
But Huskies aren’t made for hoodies. By the time she’d wriggled one paw through, her head was stuck inside the hood, her ears flattened and one eye poking through the armhole. Obito, holding the phone in his mouth on selfie mode (they hadn't quite figured out tripods), barked helpfully, then pressed record with his nose.
The video that followed was 14 seconds of high-speed spinning, dramatic grunting, and Athena crashing into a floor lamp before launching herself backwards over the sofa, still partially in the hoodie. Obito applauded with his paws.
She sulked in a blanket for an hour, muttering “I looked like a croissant…”
For the next attempt, Athena planned a “baking with your bestie” segment. They had props: chef hats, a squeaky spoon, and a dog-friendly carrot cake.
The first red flag was when Obito mistook the fake whisk for a tug toy. The second was when Athena turned around mid-scene to find Obito, chef hat askew, face-deep in the cake, happily eating with his entire muzzle. He wagged his tail so hard he knocked over the phone and the kitchen stool.
The final shot was Athena trying to wrestle the half-eaten cake away from her brother, yelling, “We haven’t filmed the frosting bit!” as Obito just smiled with cream cheese on his eyebrows.
Determined to reclaim her dignity, Athena decided to film her signature move: the “soaring jump over the garden furniture,” a trick so elegant and precise that the mere idea of it brought her pride.
Obito, being supportive, was in charge of “hype barks” and camera angles.
Unfortunately, it had rained the night before.
She launched herself with grace, paws extended, form flawless, only to land in the one remaining puddle in the garden. Water sprayed like a dramatic movie scene. There was a pause. A beat. And then:
“My. Paws.”
Athena stood frozen, her fur puffed, eyes wide with betrayal. Obito barked with joy and jumped in next to her, adding a second, bigger splash. Athena screamed like a banshee and ran back inside at warp speed, muddy footprints tracking across four rugs, a cat, and a confused Roomba.
By that evening, Athena had given up. She curled under a blanket pile, her head sticking out with the drama of a soap opera actress in distress. “I’m not meant to be famous,” she mumbled into a cushion. “I’m meant to be legendary.”
Obito snuggled up beside her, his gigantic paw flopping across her back. “I thought we did good.”
He licked her ear. She didn’t bite him. That meant progress.
But unbeknownst to either of them, their human had uploaded the raw clips to TikTok with the caption:  
“My dogs tried to be influencers. Please send help. #dogfluencerdisaster #huskyfail #malamutechaos”
Within hours, they had 2.3 million views.
The internet fell in love. Not with the cool aesthetic Athena wanted, but with the chaos. People adored the hoodie roll, the cake incident, the splash heard ‘round the world.
Fan art poured in. Someone made merch. Obito got a deal for dog treats. Athena got a custom robe with “Miss Pants” embroidered in gold thread.
And so it was that two ridiculous, lovable, dramatic, utterly imperfect dogs took over the digital world. Not because they were the most elegant, or the most professional, but because they were them.
Princess and Mr. Toe Beans: chaos royalty. Long may they drool.