Hey human,

Just had to share – tonight I became “Capone the Christmas Shepherd” when I led a lost terrier named Tootsie on a festive Pawsburgh adventure, warming both our souls with Bulldog’s BBQ and the holiday spirit that twinkles in the night. Can’t wait to spill the whole tail with you. Maybe Tootsie can inspire a new cookie shape this year?

Dreaming of crumbs and kindness,
Capone 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

As I lay on my frayed yet beloved doggy bed, the scent of my human’s joyous, anxious pre-holiday baking wafting through the air, an itch for adventure began to tickle my paws. My yellow toys, though scattered ceremoniously as signs of valor and play, could not quench my current thirst for the extraordinary. Indeed, Christmas was near, and my whiskers could almost taste the snowy magic.

So I trotted off toward Pawsburgh—a town that knows not of leashes nor the stern word “no”—a place of canine freedom, where four-legged dreams are understood and catered to in every niche and store.

Shar-Pei Shores was my first stop—sand perfectly cool under the wintry sky, a delightful contrast to the heat from ovens back home. My footprints, singular on the beach, for no dog would dare to dismiss the promise of a warm hearth for the shore tonight. But then again, I am Capone, a connoisseur of solitude when it entails venturing.

However, tonight, my solace was broken by the sound of whimpering. Behind a dune, I found a downcast, tag-less Boston Terrier. “Lost?” I inquired.

Her nod, a shiver in her compact frame, spoke volumes. “Name’s Tootsie,” she managed, her voice trembling like the last autumn leaf holding fast to a branch.

Vonnegut might say we are all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but not tonight. Tonight, Tootsie’s ride through the universe had a purposeful detour—via a shepherd named Capone.

I nudged her gently. “Ever been to Bulldog’s BBQ?” I asked, and when she shook her head, I felt my heart swell. “Their smoked bones could warm any soul. Plus, it’s New Year’s, and every dog deserves a feast.”

We journeyed through the glacial sparkle of Pawsburgh. Newfoundland Nook’s towering pines hoisted celestial lights, Bloodhound Bluffs echoed greetings from afar. We pranced by Whippet Wraps, their festive display tempting us, but my mission was steadfast. Somewhere between The Howling Husky Hardware Store and The Pooch Playhouse, I saw Tootsie’s spirit lift, her demeanor braving the joy around us.

Upon reaching Bulldog’s BBQ, a gastronomic sanctuary for the discerning pup, we feasted. Her gratitude, in every glance and wag, was worth more than a thousand cookies—except maybe my human’s, but let’s not nosh down that rabbit hole.

As the night darkened and snow fell like confectioner dust from a sifter, I thought of my beloved human, crafting her annual masterpiece—a cookie puzzle, with pieces not for chewing but for fitting snugly together, a challenge I keenly observed but never hindered. Her stories often danced around them—how each cookie, each piece, tailored an entire scene, just like each moment with Tootsie that was fitting snugly into my own Christmas tale.

We parted, Tootsie and I, at the threshold of Rottweiler’s Ribs. She thanked me, her journey now aligning with a newfound path toward a shelter within Pawsburgh, a place where tales of kindness wouldn’t go warm by the fire alone. I bid her farewell, a reminder that even the lost find their way under the Christmas lanterns’ glow.

Returning home, I heard the soft snoring of my human from my doggy bed. I wondered if she would bake a Boston Terrier cookie this year. And as I closed my eyes, the echo of my tale wagged in my mind, ready to be shared in the hushed glow of Christmas morning.

For I am Capone—adventurer, guide, Christmas shepherd—and this was but one night’s episode in a universe of accidental warmth and intended kindness.

The End.

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