Hey Sam! 🐾🎄 In between savoring chicken dreams and plotting with my merry band of tail-waggers, I’ve become the unofficial Santa Paws of Pawsburgh. Delivering joy, squeaky toys, and chic scarves, all while keeping my snout cold and tail high. Christmas spirit? Nailed it. Remember to check your coffee cup for surprises! 😉🎁🐕 – Bowie

Listen to the story here

It must have been a Tuesday when I, Bowie the light golden cream Golden Retriever, first sniffed out the concept of Christmas. Not a remarkable Tuesday by human standards, but in Pawsburgh, every flick of the tail has meaning.

The old oak at home had shed its last leaf, and the pear tree’s scents were replaced by that particular chill that suggests impending snow and hearty meaty meals. Pawsburgh, a mystical canine metropolis which comes alive at a whiff of human absence, twinkled under a pre-holiday glimmer. I trotted down Lhasa Lane with a spring in my stride that belied the cold nipping at my paws.

Max the Beagle, Daisy the Dachshund, and Winston with his slow-paced St. Bernard sagacity were to meet me by Blue Basenji Bay – a meeting destined to steer us onto a yuletide adventure. Vizsla Valley lay draped in a white cloak, soon to be frolicked upon by paws galore, but our furry foursome had other plans.

At Pooch’s Pizzeria, the scent of golden crusts danced with zesty tomato. It was a good thing I liked chicken more than carrots or I might have pressed my nose against the glass long enough to draw concern and steam, both.

“Christmas is coming, and it worries me,” said Winston, who worried about a lot of things, including yuletide logs and the proper gist of howling.

Max, eyes aglow, had other ideas. “We should be Santas! Deliver bones, bouncy balls, and squeaky toys to all the good pups of Pawsburgh!”

“Sounds scandalous!” Daisy yipped, often confusing ‘scandalous’ with ‘exciting’. “How does one ‘Santa’?”

The four-legged assembly looked to me – wisdom falling somewhere between Winston’s ponderous pronouncements and Max’s boundless bravado.

“It’s about giving,” I posited, “and possibly chew toys.” Ah, the ever-sparkling spunk emerged.

And so we fashioned ourselves a sleigh from Fido’s Feast takeaway boxes, harnessing the power of imagination and a touch of holiday metaphor. Max plotted a course with the certainty of a dog chasing his own tail – confidently, with gusto, and with a fair chance of collapsing in an exhausted heap.

On our escapade, the moon hung above us like an incomplete game of fetch, while ribbons of cold nipped at the soft fur under my ears. Our first stop was Canine Couture Clothing, where we lifted a selection of winter booties and chic scarves for Mrs. Paws who shivered stylishly through every winter.

Next, the formidable iron gates of Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store yielded chewy bars and leathery delights, tied up with ribbons stolen from the Woof and Whisker Wellness Center’s ‘Get Well Soon’ baskets.

“Happiness,” I mused, as we darted through the frosted streets, “is a warm tennis ball.” Not that Sam ever understood when I presented one to him after a particularly thrilling chase. That is, until I deposited it in his half-empty coffee cup. Humans adore such surprises, or so I hoped.

Our deliveries ran the gamut of practical jokers to our more refined kibble connoisseurs. Every waggle of a tail, every slobbering lick, every gentle nibble on our ears – affirmations of the spirit we sought to spread.

As night deepened its embrace and our escapades drew to an end, I lay sprawled under the austere glow of a street lamp on Setter’s Steakhouse Lane, Max, Daisy, and Winston dozing nearby. I thought of Sam, of my plush coat soon to be peppered with icicles, of chewy chicken dreams, and of carrots left forever untouched. The magic of Pawsburgh buzzed beneath us, in a town where dogs rule and Christmas is a state of heart, not just a date on the calendar.

And while I may not grasp the entirety of human festivities, the heart of Christmas was as clear as my reflection in a freshly licked dinner bowl. It was about joy, about giving, and of course, about glistening tennis balls under twinkling stars. If only humans knew where we sneak off to…

The End.