Hey Mom,

Turns out I went from zero to hero as Spencerville’s accidental Christmas Shepherd! Guided a lost pup through our festive town to a magical meetup spot with his fam. Found some wisdom, warmth, and the meaning of guiding along the way. Who knew this bulldog had it in him? Rolling home, tail wagging and heart full.

Hugs and slobbers,
Big Mac 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

As the first snow began to garland the eaves of the Whiskers and Wings, I, Big Mac, found myself squarely in the middle of a peculiar situation, lazily sprawled across an overstuffed armchair that was strategically positioned for optimal warmth and afternoon contemplation. The orange glow of the setting sun cast a rather flattering light on my brindle coat, accentuating its palette as I watched the streets of Spencerville get dressed in their wintry finery.

The Dapper Dog Salon had already hung garlands around their doorway, and through the window, I could see the tinsel-tinged tails of several patrons wagging in contentment. Across the way, The Woofy Bakery exhaled clouds of sweet, buttery air that mingled with the evening frost, enough to make one’s tail wag out of metronome.

Now, one might argue that a bulldog, particularly of the stocky and jowly variety, would find himself ill-suited as a shepherd of any kind, Christmas notwithstanding. And to that, I would agree, save for the fact that Spencerville wasn’t your average dog town, and I wasn’t your average dog – I had character – and characters, mind you, can grow beyond their beginnings, or so I’ve always held in the folds of my face.

The Christmas merriment was in full swing, when the jingle of the door alerted me to a newcomer. A bit of a pup, all gangly legs and wide-eyed innocence, stood hesitating on the threshold. He seemed lost, a stranger to this haven disguised as a canine metropolis.

In a town where Golden Retriever River was known to guide the wayward back home, my newfound furry friend appeared to require a more terrestrial sort of guidance. With a sigh that ruffled my whiskers, I heaved myself up, feeling the call of a Christmas Shepherd – though my underbelly argued that a nap was the preferable path.

“Now then, young traveler,” I boomed, a touch more grandly than required, “what brings you snuffling about Spencerville on this fine eve?”

The pup, a German Shepherd with a coat that whispered of the snow itself, replied, “I’m searching for the Glowing Glen. It’s where I’m supposed to meet my family. Have you heard of it?”

“Glowing Glen?” I pondered, my mind sifting through various locales. “Not on any common map, but say, wasn’t there an old legend about it?”

I was soon leading my charge, sashaying past Pup-Cakes, where the scent of baked treats was almost strong enough to reroute our little expedition. We were adventurers, bulldog and shepherd, seeking the fabled Glen amidst the twinkle-lit byways of our yuletide town.

“Guiding isn’t just keeping noses to the ground, you know. It’s about sniffing the wind, seeing with your heart,” I advised, hoping that sounded as wise to the pup as it did in my head.

“My family…” he began, his voice trailing like his breath in the chilly air, “they say we’ll be together again. In places like this.”

“Yes, reunions are big here in Spencerville. Just ask any of the residents at Dog-gone Good BBQ. They’re always reminiscing between mouthfuls of brisket. But I digress,” I said, aware my belly was dictating more than my sense of direction.

At long last, we found ourselves at Dalmatian Desert, the least likely place to discover anything ‘Glowing’ or ‘Glen.’ Despite my protests, my paws seemed to know the way, guiding us to a copse dusted in moonlight and silence, where the very stars appeared to have settled amongst the branches.

“Is this…” the pup stammered, gazing wide-eyed as the trees began shimmering with a bizarre and beautiful energy.

“Yes,” I confirmed, my tone adopting the appropriate reverence for the moment, “This is it.”

With joy unfurled, the German Shepherd bounded ahead, guided by memories and the promise of reuniting with loved ones. I watched, contented, as he disappeared into the luminance. It was, I supposed, the very epitome of guidance and kindness – the heart of a Christmas Shepherd.

And, as I turned back towards the inviting warmth of Spencerville, I pondered whether my leather chew toy would be jealous of such a tale. After all, it was quite the yarn – even for a bulldog with a penchant for the cheese dramatics, rather than the banana dramatics.

The End.