Hey Mom,

Guess who lit up Pawsburgh and saved Yule? Your own Benny! Led the pack through fog with Rudy’s shiny snout to deck out the Great Tree. We turned a dim night into a dazzling triumph! Everyone’s calling it a Christmas miracle. Can’t wait to tell you all about it.

Wags and licks,
Bentley 🐾🎄✨

Listen to the story here

In Pawsburgh, where every cobblestone whispers of secret escapades and unfurled tongues pant tales of valor, I, Bentley the Chi-Poo, trod with a lightness that set the town’s heart aflutter. My days were drafts, scribed in the joyous ink of scampering and the dogged pursuit of merriment, and my nights – oh, those star-kissed nights – were manuscripts of dreams woven beneath a moonlit canvas.

It was the eve of Yule when the fog descended upon us like a shroud, swathing Newfoundland Nook in a spectral haze. The town’s luminous expanse dimmed, as though the very stars had misplaced their shimmer. The festive lights of Pawsburgh, usually a beacon of jubilation, now dulled to mere whispers against the oppressive grey.

But let me assure you, friends, our canine valor remained unshaken. By tradition, the Great Tree in Samoyed Square was to be lit this very evening, a beacon calling all wayfaring souls to the warmth of kinship. With each determined step toward Cavalier Cove, I passed Beagle Bagels, where the scent of poppy seed twists spiraled invitingly in the thick air, and Setter’s Steakhouse, its windows fogged from the heated anticipation within.

The Howling Husky Hardware Store had supplied the glistening baubles, the cords of lights; The Woof and Whisker Wellness Center, healthful treats amassed for festive respite; and Best in Show Photography had cameras at the ready to capture that spark – now seemingly lost to the clutches of this untimely mire.

Alas, it was the first time our revered tradition faced such a perilous threat, and the murmurs among my muddled compatriots grew dim with unease. This town of tail-waggers, normally a bustling hub of bounding joy and resolute enterprise, now stood as unsure as a pup on its first foray into the foreboding world beyond the familial fence.

In any other setting, I might have been lost in the swell of my thoughts, contemplating my aversion to the stifling of snow or the unnerving roar of vacuums – but on this day, as I approached Samoyed Square, my mind held no room for fears. For today, like the crest of a rogue wave, emerged a duty from the depths.

To be sure, I might have been a mere specter to the passersby, lost in the swirling fog, were it not for my vibrant spirit, which refused to be dimmed. My keen eyes, discerning amidst the milky veil, saw what others could not – our town, veiled but unvanquished, buckled but not broken.

Tails drooped around me, droplets of despair marrying the mist-kissed ground, as the familiar face of Rudy, the young Golden Retriever with the peculiar glowing nose, approached. Muttered misgivings hung in the air as the task at hand – to light the great tree – teetered on the brink of abandonment.

Then, in an impulsive leap of faith fueled by the spirit of the season and perhaps an overindulgence in Corgi’s eggnog crepes, I let out a bark that cut through the haze like a ship’s horn through the brume.

“Friends of Pawsburgh! Gaze not upon your paws in dismay, but lift ’em high! For hasn’t Rudy’s radiant snout – a beacon brighter than any lighthouse – led us faithfully through the night?”

I, Bentley, the curiously concocted Chi-Poo of boundless verve, with a wit as sharp as the winter’s chill and a heart as bold as any canine ever known, rallied the ranks of my comrades with newfound fire.

Together, behind Rudy’s glowing beak, we advanced. He led us through the soupy gloom, his luminance piercing the murk, guiding our paws as we wound tinsel, hung ornaments, and strung lights upon the branches of the once-forlorn tree.

By my side stood friends of every breed, spaniel and shepherd and schnauzer alike, and their spirits swelled with a song unsung, a symphony of shaggy silhouettes bound by a cord of common cause.

And as the last bulb sparked to life, the fog lifted like a curtain at the play’s end, revealing the spectacle of our efforts – the Great Tree aglow, undimmed by the swirling fogs of misfortune, a symbol of the indomitable spirit of Pawsburgh.

The throngs cheered, and I, Bentley, a dog of small stature but immense heart, wagged my tail in rhythm with the reverie, knowing that within every underdog resides the torch to guide a town, and historic tales await in moment’s stride.

For in the storytelling town of Pawsburgh, every yip and yap, every bounding leap through the fog, sings of adventures grand as the noblest saga. It was a Christmas to remember, a tale told over bowls of freeze-dried delights, among friends, under the watchful eye of a moon that shone just a tad brighter, upon a small hero wrapped in fur, who transformed a shrouded eve into a story forever ingrained in the very soul of this magical, dog-only hamlet.

The End.