Hey pack,

Just a quick tail-wagging update—I, Charlotte the Frisbee Fairy, along with Gabriel and our motley crew of paws and claws, braved the frost to shepherd stranded souls back to Pawsburgh’s hearth. Our adventure turned a frisbee into a sled and strangers into friends, warming spirits faster than a yule log on a snowy night. Who needs a warm lap when you’ve got heroics to keep you toasty? 😉

Stay furry,
Lottie 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Darlings, perch your ears and lend me your snouts, for I, Charlotte, have a Pawsburgh tale that will curl your whiskers. ‘Twas a frost-kissed evening in December, with each cobblestone in our magical town glossed in a sheen of ice, the moon casting long shadows of the quaint cottages that lined the winding streets.

I recall it all began with an unassuming trot down to Sniffer’s Sandwiches. The air was thick with the scent of Shepherd’s Shawarma, but even my belly’s rumble couldn’t pipe down the excitement for the eve’s escape to our clandestine revel. You see, Pawsburgh was afoot with more than just holiday spirit.

Nestled in my fur was a worn teal frisbee – it’s very color a contrast to the silvery world around. Sneaking out from the warmth of my human’s homestead, thoughts of baked chicken treats sparkled in my mind like the Christmas lights adorning Onyx Otterhound Oasis.

As the night grew colder, so began the whispers of a stranded party on Pyrenean Peak. And honestly, they had the audacity to get lost on Christmas Eve – can you believe it? Now, my friends, I am many a thing; cheeky, charming, and sometimes a touch too proud, but in the face of Christmas virtue, not even I could ignore the shepherd’s call to guidance.

You see, there was someone else afoot that night; an astute German Shepherd, known to us as Gabriel. Oh, Gabriel was Pawsburgh’s very own Christmas Shepherd, striding through blizzards and tempests, no weary traveler left behind.

Baxter, with his nose for adventure, had already volunteered a paw. “Charlotte, you coming?” his Beagle baritone rang in the frosty air. I hesitated for the barest of moments – a Spaniel’s love for warm laps and afternoon naps tugging at my heartstrings. But adventure – oh, sweet siren – beckoned with an irresistible allure.

En route to the peak, amidst the swirls of snow, Whiskers appeared, padding silently by my side, his feline ways disregarding the invisible barriers between dog and cat. “Lead the way, dear,” Whiskers mewed, showcasing that soft spot he reserved for my capers.

And so we trudged, bravado and paws aplenty, guided by the steadfast grace of our Christmas Shepherd. It was a harmony of barks and purrs, solidarity in the season’s chill, woven together by bonds stronger than the fiercest snowstorm.

There they were, a huddle of lost souls amidst the white, their eyes wide as saucers, the festive cheer obviously having vacated their spirits. Gabriel was the first to approach, with an authority that can only be described as comforting. You would’ve expected no less, right?

But I, emitting an aura of sophisticated elegance, orchestrated the delightful reveal of my frisbee, invoking smiles, laughter, and a break in the relentless wind. We used it, don’t you know, as a makeshift sled, delivering each traveler down the treacherous incline with much fanfare.

To say we received mere gratitude from those we ushered to safety would be an understatement. We were the bark of the town, our tale retold with each passing ale at Doggone Deli.

So when my humankind snuggles me tight, claiming it’s too cold for escapades, I merely wag my tail, eyes sparkling, knowing full well the warmth of adventure beats any earthly chill.

And that, my dear comrades, is how Charlotte saved Christmas, with a frisbee, a dash of cheek, and a purring accomplice, proving that in the frosty embrace of Pawsburgh, one never treads alone. Now, isn’t that just the cat’s meow?

The End.