Hey pack,

Just drummed my way into Spencerville’s heart for the holidays. Turned my tail-wag rhythm into the town’s festive soundtrack. Remember, it’s not the size of the drum, but the joy in our bark that brings us together. Keep thumping to your own beat and stay pawsome!

Thumpingly yours,
Buddy “Paws” Percussion 🥁🐾😊

Listen to the story here

I always fancied myself a bit of an artist, if you will. Not the sort given to splashing about in the muddy puddles of paint, but an artist in the realm of rhythm and sound. Holiday times in Spencerville were, you might say, my own special canvas, and the little drum tucked away in the corner of our cozy living room was my loyal brush.

It was a modest thing, that drum – nothing flashy, mind you, just the right size for a retriever with an affinity for cadence. The neighborhood knew me as good-hearted Buddy, the dog who’d rather wag his tail than his tongue, and so I relished the thought of bringing cheer in the simplest of manners.

The tale of my holiday drumming debut began one crisp evening when the twinkling lights of Lower Golden Gate Gardens cast a playful glow among the frosted leaves. A light dusting of snow had settled upon the streets of Spencerville, and the mirthful sounds of the season echoed from rooftop to rooftop.

I had just indulged in a visit to The Doggy Bagel Deli, where resided the finest chicken—roasted to perfection—this side of the Mississippi. In the heart of my golden chest, where beats the drum of a forever young spirit, there was a thrumming, a calling. The jolly festivities needed something more, something only I felt stirring in my paws.

Standing by East Pug Palace, near the silhouette of the great clock tower, I set paw to my little drum with a zeal reserved for greeting my beloved Andersons at the door. Pa rum pum pum pum, my rhythm began, almost shyly at first, under the silver sheen of the moon’s gracious smile.

Curiosity piqued, furry faces emerged from Brindle Brown Boxer Beach and the warm environs of Bow Wow Burgers, their noses twitching to the beat of my unassuming tune. Max, with his spots that mirrored the night sky, let out a bark of encouragement, while Lily and Jasper harmonized with howls as if they, too, played in an unseen dog orchestra.

With each tap, I found my confidence growing, my tail keeping time with the drum’s humble proclamation of joy. There was no need for fancy frills or the sheen of a show. Just me, Buddy, and a simple gift of music to share.

The night was alive with the songs of Spencerville’s choir, the air rich with the scents of canine revelry. “Come one, come all,” I seemed to play, and they did. From the neatly trimmed hedges of The Groom Room to the festive threshold of Canine Couture Clothing, the town danced to my drum’s beat—paws up, tails swinging through the chilly air.

Emma and Archie looked on with pride from their spot on the bench near the frozen pond. We were the trio of pawed drummers now, and my heart swelled to see their eyes glistening brightly, reflecting the beaming faces of our assembled kin.

As the evening waned, I brought the melody to a close, the final rum a soft echo in the humming wind. A chorus of appreciative woofs and wags greeted me, but it was the silent gratitude in each pair of glistening eyes that truly sang to my heart.

Let it be said then that in Spencerville this holiday eve, it wasn’t grandeur that brought us together; it was the gentle beat of a little drummer pup. And that, my friends, is a tune I’ll keep playing long after the snow has melted and the last of the holiday lights have dimmed. Pa rum pum pum pum.

The End.