Hey bestie! Just wrapped up playing Santa Paws in Pawsburgh with Maximus & co. – spreading yuletide cheer and a few chuckles along the way. Who knew I’d swap my solo sniffs for team tail-wags? Btw, remind me to dodge carrots & stick to bakeries. Merry Yuletide! 🐾😉 – Hazelnut

Listen to the story here

Ever stepped paw into the enigma that is Pinscher Plaza during Yuletide? Well, buckle up your collars, dear friends, for it’s Hazel narrating a tale that’s part Christmas miracle, part whisker-twitching adventure – a chapter from the secretive diary of my Pawsburgh escapades.

It all began one frost-licked evening in Pawsburgh – the kind of night that whispered promises of wonders tucked discreetly in its starry pockets. The Plaza bustled with yuletide fervor as terriers, retrievers, and, yes, even the discerning cats of Terrier Town roamed with an air of unspoken truce. My noble snout, usually found leading the charge into realms unknown, sniffed the crisp air in anticipation of something… different.

Ah, the prelude to our tale finds me indecisive about the array of tantalizing scents wafting from Barker’s Bakery. Buttery biscuits? Or perhaps the savory siren call of Paw Pad Thai? No, not tonight. After a disdainful glance at a rogue carrot frolicking near Bark-n-Bite Bistro, I sauntered towards The Woofy Bakery.

Sidling past the window, I caught my reflection – a pit bull of regal posture, with eyes like molten chocolate left to cool just a tad too long. Then, something rather peculiar. A soft glow irradiated from behind me, casting a theatrical spotlight. I turned, a skeptical arch to my brow, to find… Sir Nutsworth?

“Nay, fair Hazel,” came his reply, audacious for a stuffed squirrel. “For tonight, I am the mentor to Pawsburgh’s Santa Paws!” My eyes rolled harder than the dough at Barker’s. “Come now, it’s a time for giving! Break from that existential tug-of-war struggle and, you know, maybe try some literal tug-of-war with the less fortunate pups.”

So there I was, Sir Nutsworth in tow, embarking on a quest to find Pawsburgh’s top pup in the secret Santa stakes. Admittedly, my ambitions were laced with skepticism – but isn’t that the cocktail of champions? As I paraded into The Pawfect Training Center, there I saw him, a sprightly young pup named Maximus, his fur glistening with the zeal of youthful ignorance.

“Maximus, oh ye of boundless energy,” I expounded, waggling a paw. “How would you like to don the metaphorical red hat and embody the essence of Santa Paws?”

With a toothy grin and tail wag that might generate a pleasant breeze, he nodded. Thus, our montage began! We pranced from The Pampered Pooch Salon to Akita Alley’s less-traveled nooks, bestowing chew toys and finding homes for the orphan tennis balls lurking in shadows.

Observing Maximus, I felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the bakeries’ ovens. He delivered mirth like an expert toss of a frisbee – so carefree, so hopelessly devoted to the cause. Any lingering doubts I harbored fled me, like cats from a bathtub.

Our sleigh of deedful joy reached the end of its nighttime journey with the realization that – “Egad!” – we had forgotten Buster and Whiskers. But Maximus, with a sparkle of inspiration, led us to an impromptu gathering beneath the pearl-bright moon. A truce formed as Buster, the howling harmonica, and Whiskers, the purring percussionist, orchestrated a symphony of peace, sweetened by the sharing of Sir Nutsworth approved pastries.

Tales spun; secrets kept. Pawsburgh’s own Carol of the Paws colored the night like magic.

Well, my friends, as my tale tail nears its swishing end on this Earthly plane, remember: It’s not the memory of the wind as you sail through your kingdom at 30 miles per hour, nor the narratives you whisper to shuffling leaves; it’s the lives you touch (or paw at) with the whimsy of Santa Paws that embroiders your legacy into the heart of Pawsburgh.

And remember, should carrots ever cross your path, turn your noble nose skyward, for there’s always a bakery around the corner in Pawsburgh. Merry Yuletide!

The End.