Hey Sam,

Karlee here—your noirish narrator and Pawsburgh’s paw-sonal hero. Tonight, I turned our timid goldie Rudolph into a beacon of hope and found Santa Paws chilling in seclusion. Another doggone adventure in the books! Hit me up for a tail-wagging re-tell over dog biscuits and belly rubs.

Wags and Whiskers,
Karlee 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

As the moon graced Pawsburgh with its silver glow, the sleepy hush of the night was at its peak. Here I am, Karlee, truth be told, not just any Rottweiler. I’m the Rottweiler—the one with a tail that wags tales and a bark that’s less bite and more…conversation.

On this particular nighttime rendezvous in Pawsburg, I had snuck out to the famed Papillon Promenade, where the holiday decorations twinkled, casting a mosaic of shadows and light, a chiaroscuro that even Caravaggio might appreciate—or so I imagine, what do I know from art?

My destination was the Onyx Otterhound Oasis, a quaint spot where one could immerse oneself in festive celebrations. But tonight was no ordinary festivity, mind you. We had a crisis on our paws. Wrapped in a swirl of mist as thick as the peanut butter at Mutt Munchies, the town was practically invisible.

“In-visibility. That’s a pun, by the way,” Gus, my elderly Beagle friend, would say, his dogtastic humor never waning even at times when levity was harder to fetch than a well-thrown stick.

You see, the dilemma was that Santa Paws, yes—the Santa Paws—had gone missing, his sleigh laden with toys that risked remaining undelivered to all the good boys and girls of Pawsburg.

Enter Rudolph, the youthful Golden Retriever with a schnoz that could light up Vizsla Valley. Poor pup, more outcast than a cat at a dog park because of that iridescent nose of his. But tonight, oh tonight, his oddity was our North Star.

Squaring my shoulders and nudging Rudolph with my robust frame, I say, “Listen, kiddo, you’re the lead detective on this case. That nose of yours? It’s not just a party trick; it’s our guiding light.”

Rudolph blinked those doughy eyes, nervous as a pug on a hot day. “Are… are you sure? I mean, what if I’m not up for the task?”

“Positive as I am that lemons are not on the menu for me,” I shoot back with a woof. The squirt needed to know his worth—self-confidence isn’t just a trait, it’s a choice.

Thus, with Rudolph at the helm, our motley crew of canine crusaders—including the indefatigable Bella and the sagacious Gus—ventured into the murky depths of the streets, led by the glow of our Red-Nosed Retriever.

Past the Beagle Bagels (where the aroma of warm dough eternally lingered), through the tendrils of fog that wrapped Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store like a snug sweater, we pressed on. And there, in a quiet corner of the promenade, cut off from the worrisome fog, was Santa Paws.

“What took you so long?” Santa Paws chuckled, his bobtail wagging. “I’ve been here enjoying the tranquility. Peace and quiet, you know? It’s hard to come by.”

Rudolph’s nose dimmed as confidence brightened his features. “It was… me. I led them here.”

“What did I tell ya, kid? Guiding sleighs,” I muse, a grin forming on my muzzle despite the otherwise solemn expression I usually reserve for public appearances.

The crisis averted, the sleigh found its way, all thanks to Rudolph and his serendipitous snout. Sam would be proud of this night’s escapade, my bravery—though I’d have to edit the part about being scared of loud noises. You understand, it’s for the narrative.

As for Rudolph, well, let’s just say he became more than an outcast; he became a beacon. And me? I’m just your typical Rottweiler—a little courageous, a little play-bitey, and a whole lot of heart, spending yet another blessing of a night under the Pawsburgh stars.

The End.