Hey Jamie! 🐾

Just filled in as Pawsburgh’s impromptu Christmas Shepherd tonight, did some tail-wagging heroics by saving a lost Husky from a fateful fashion faux pas. Luna’s in tow, and we rocked it! Write down another paw-some adventure for your fuzzy Frenchie detective. Treats appreciated. 😉

Cheers,
Detective Dixie 🕵️‍♀️🐶✨

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In the heart of the mystical Pawsburgh, where the avenues are paved with pawprints and fire hydrants come in all colors of the rainbow, I found myself a French Bulldog of considerable charm and charisma — or so says my human, Jamie, but what do they know? They might be well-versed in scrubbing behind my ears, but the true essence of Dixie cannot be sufficiently summarized with a mere belly rub.

It was a frosty Christmas Eve, and the streets of Pawsburgh were strung with twinkling lights that reflected off my star-marked chest, making it shimmer like the noonday sun upon my usual grassy sprawl. Something about the quiet of the holidays stirred the sleepy town — perhaps it was the anticipation of tonight’s grand event at Samoyed Square, or maybe it was simply that the scent of peanut butter cookies lingered a tad more thickly in the air.

As I padded down Amber Akita Alley, the typically rambunctious bark of the city was hushed, blanketed under fresh snowflakes that settled on my pointy ears, practically fine-tuning them to the frequencies of festive cheer.

Ha, frequencies of festive cheer — I had to laugh at myself. Sounded like something out of a book Jamie would read, all snuggled up by the fire with the rickety robot vacuum puttering about, me barking at it halfheartedly. It had become more of a holiday tradition than a real annoyance.

Speaking of traditions, there was the Christmas Shepherd — an old tale told by Max, the grand Lab of Garnet Greyhound Grove, evoking a spirit of guidance and compassion. This Shepherd was said to trot through the snows of Christmas Eve, guiding lost travelers back to warmth and safety. A noble job, indeed.

I arrived at Samoyed Square just as the choir of Collies concluded a harmonious rendition of ‘Bark the Herald Angels Sing’. There, in the midst of it, stood a statue of the legendary Christmas Shepherd, noble and proud in the glow of holiday lights.

“Fancy a peanut butter treat, Dixie?” Luna, with her spaniel ears perked in high holiday spirits, nudged me towards Tail-Twitching Treats.

“Only if we can skip The Snooty Snout Boutique,” I replied, thinking of the frilly frocks the shop was famous for. Not exactly suited for a dignified Frenchie like myself.

Luna laughed, a sound that jingled like sleigh bells. “Sure thing. But tell me, have you heard about the lost Husky from Mutt Munchies? Wandered off in the snow, they say.”

My ears twitched. “We can’t have that, not on Christmas Eve.”

Revived by a sense of purpose, and perhaps the ghosts of all the Shepherds before, I rallied. “Lead the way, Luna. Tonight, we assume the mantle of the Christmas Shepherd!”

Through pristine drifts, past Puppy Patisserie, where the scent of chicken — delicately cooked, signature to the Christmas feast — nearly waylaid our quest, we searched, guiding the lost back just as the stories foretold. The Husky was indeed off-course, somewhat dazzled by the Canine Couture Clothing display. But with a bark and a nudge, he was soon pointing homeward, his tail a wisp of thanks in the cool air.

As I lay back down at Jamie’s feet later that night, the tales of my day’s adventure echoed off the ceiling along with the hearty snores from my contented self. Jamie looked down at me, “Oh, Dixie, if only you could talk…”

If only, I thought, my white patch a muted beacon in the dim glow of Christmas lights. If only they knew, dear Jamie, of the marvelous escapades a Frenchie like me can have in the whispering, wondrous enclave of Pawsburgh.

The End.

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