Hey, just a quick tail wag to tell you that Pawsburgh’s Eve of Christmas was pawsitively mystical! I, Kimba the Canine Curator of Adventure, led a tail-tastic quest where my frisbee transformed into canine royalty! We romped through realms where dogs reign supreme and frisbees dance, guided by feline wisdom. Came back with my toy and a whisper of marzipan magic. Dreams or reality; in Pawsburgh, who can tell the difference? 🐾✨ – Queen K

Listen to the story here

In the haze of a moonlit Pawsburgh eve, I, Kimba, found myself once more emerging through the portal of imagination, my paws barely skimming the cobblestones of Garnet Greyhound Grove. As the clock tower struck midnight, it was not silence that followed but a bark echoing with enchantment.

Each bark was a note, and the notes strung together a melody that even the most playful pups of the Promenade could not ignore. This, you see, was no ordinary night in Pawsburgh. ‘Twas the Eve of Christmas, when the bones are juiciest and the kibble sparkles with mystery.

As a connoisseur of adventure, I trotted past The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium with my frayed blue frisbee dangling from my maw. The windows shimmered with trinkets that might tickle the fancy of any creature, but it was I who was destined for a realm beyond the wildest doggy dreams this evening, wherein my cherished toy would serve as my scepter.

I whisked past the baying crowds of Barking BBQ, barely resisting the siren call of sizzling chicken, my delightful delicacy. Tonight, my quest led me further, and not even sweet, crunchy carrots, the crunchies that make my tail coil with glee, could sway me.

I found myself nearing the Grand Oak of Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, where legends whispered of transformation under the glow of Yuletide stars. There was an air of expectancy as if the universe was holding its breath, or perhaps that was just Baxter, the terrier mix, caught mid-bark.

I took my place at the base of the tree, the sacred frisbee offered before me. A shiver of anticipation ran through my coat, my spirit afire with holiday magic. And then it happened…

My beloved toy, the nucleus of my mundane joys, began to dance! Not the sort of jig you’d see at Bark-n-Bite Bistro on a Friday night, oh no. It shimmied and twirled, becoming more than a mere disc of rubber.

There was a flash—a rather gaudy display of lights, if I may—and before me stood not the frisbee, but a princely canine, regal as any Malinois. His coat shone with the same lustrous hue as my own, the blue of our shared ancestry now adorning his princely raiment.

“Paws up, Your Highness!” the dashing prince greeted, a princely twinkle in his eye.

Flattered though I was, I wove around him in circles, my curiosity a carousel. “O, noble sir of faded blue,” I ventured, “do I know you from somewhere else?”

The prince’s chuckle rumbled like a comfy ride in the back of Charlie’s car. “You might say,” he purred, “I’ve been caught in your orbit since the day I was thrown your way.”

Delighted by his response, yet not without pride, I embarked upon our adventure with the Prince of Frisbees at my side. Each step was a frolic through realms of fantasy, where dogs were kings and queens and frisbees lords of dance.

We met Cleo, the Siamese sage, who regarded us with eyes like sapphire pools. “The realm of the Nutcracker Pup awaits, heroes of heart,” she mewed, her wisdom guiding our paws.

Together, we braved the Gumdrop Glens, tamed the Marzipan Mountains, a world where no citrus dared sour our journey ‘neath the Cotton Candy Clouds.

But as enchantment is want to do, it danced away with the dawn. And just like that, I was home again, the blue frisbee nestled in my bed as if it never left.

Indeed, you might believe it all a dream, were it not for the faintest scent of marzipan on my breath and the princely wink in the frisbee’s worn fabric, hinting of a Pawsburgh Christmas where anything—a toy, a frisbee, a pup—can be truly magical.

The End.

Share This Story: