Hey Mom and Dad,

You won’t believe the tail-wagging tale I’m part of! I sorta became Pawsburgh’s unofficial adventurer, turned mythbuster, and frolicked with the legendary Snowdog (he’s real!). Frosted Whippet Way and danced in icy delight. Was a bridge betwixt magic and munchies — hotdogs, not snowflakes for me! Carved memories in the snow that’ll last even after our frosty friend melted away with the dawn’s light.

Catch you on the fluff side,
Duke 🐾😎

Listen to the story here

I woke up with a start, shaking the dreams from my fur like water off a duck’s back. The moon still perched high in the nocturnal sky, but as far as I was concerned, it was as good a morning as any to venture into that rambunctious carnival we canines call Pawsburgh.

Saluki Sands was calling my name, the grains there might as well have been composed of solid gold the way they shone under the streetlamps. No human eyes to dilute the magic, just the gleaming city of dogs, a spectacle of furry anarchy hidden in plain sight.

Rummaging through my mental map of doggie delights, I wavered between a day of sandy escapades and a visit to the culinary wilds of Paw Pad Thai. But truth be told, there was a frost peppering the air, the kind that whispered of snowdogs and winter escapades. It made me long for a twist in the tale—the legend of the Snowdog who’d gambol through Pawsburgh, inciting joyful upheaval wherever his paws touched ground.

With my trademark black coat, I was a stark contrast to the frosty landscape unfolding in the park, but I held onto the belief, perhaps foolishly, that I could conjure up this so-called Snowdog. A creature of myth, no doubt, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that belief is the first step to a rip-roaring adventure.

Shiba Inlet—home to the water-bound and the ice-dancers. Here the dogs skated, no human invention could match the thrill of paws on ice, natural grace in our blood. “Ol’ Duke’s gonna make a legend come to life today, yes he is,” I muttered to myself, taking authority of the way my breath curled into the air like spectral ribbons.

I found myself at The Groom Room perusing the shelves for trinkets, absurd doggles, and winter gear. “They say a spritz of this here ‘Frost Fur’ spray can raise the Snowdog,” the shopkeeper—a poodle with a French twang—remarked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Why not give it a whirl?”

I spritzed and watched as the unfurling scents of winter and wonderment snaked into the atmosphere. Dogs stopped in their tracks, their snouts twitching curiously. I felt it then, deep in my bones—a sudden coolness, an enchantment settling over the earth.

A figure materialized from the flurry, standing in stark contrast to the tawny and sable shades of my brethren. The Snowdog, a creature of impossible myths, shook the snow off his back and wagged his tail with indefatigable spirit.

He was all the stories had promised—whimsy woven into his being, and with each woof, a promise of play unfurled. We raced down Whippet Way, trailed by a caravan of canines elastic with curiosity and zest. The frost was our canvas, and the Snowdog painted it with friendship and joy.

Even at Dog’s Delicacies, where the aroma of treats was a siren song, the Snowdog turned heads. We feasted; him on snowflakes and magic, me on Hound’s Hotdogs—hold the citrus, thank you very much.

I was the bridge between this fantastical friend and the everyday treasures of Pawsburgh. He showed us the pure and sparkling unknown, and I grounded him with the taste of well-worn footballs and tug-of-war.

By the time the moon bowed to dawn’s light, my heart was heavy with the truth that our frosty companion would melt away, his time as ephemeral as the snow under the morning sun. But he left something eternal behind, etched into the memories of every dog who dreamt to yowl at the moon.

And so, with the legend now seen and embarking on its goodwill mission, I curled up snugly in a pocket of dawn’s embrace, ready to wake up next to my humans, my tail wagging, my heart full—for even spirits need their rest, and Snowdogs, it seems, melt not just into water, but into tales that fuel the imaginations of dreamer dogs forever more.

The End.