Hey buddy,

I just wrapped up my role as Santa Paws in Pawsburg, spreading holiday magic to the young pups, teaching them the joy of giving with sneaky gift drops under twinkling lights. Turns out, I’m quite the paw-some holiday spirit guide. Now, I’m off to chase some new secrets in the night. Catch you on the fluffy side!

Tail-wags and licks,
Gonker 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

As the first whiffs of winter caroled through Pawsburg, a tingle of anticipation jostled me awake, freckling my snout with the thought of the impending cheer. I’m Gonker, by the way, and if you’re picturing a Yellow Labrador animated in the glee of life, well, you’ve got my tail wagging in the right direction.

It all began in Pinscher Plaza, garnished with holly and chunks of pearly snow, as I bounded across, chased by my shadow under the holiday lights. There, I was met by a pack of pups, their eyes glazed with the wide-eyed wonder exclusive to youth.

“Gonker!” they barked in unison, halting my chase. “Teach us the ways of Santa Paws!”

My heart swelled like a hot air balloon, ready to embark upon skies unknown. “Santa Paws,” I echoed, the weight of legacy fitting comfortably upon my shoulders. “It’s not just a title, my friends; it’s a spirit. Are you ready to dive nose-first into this journey?” Nods and yips met my question.

First stop, the Spitz Spire. The destination? The Wagging Tail Bookstore, packed to the beams with voyages trapped in paper. Our mission? I read aloud to them, stories of old Saint Nick and packs of elves. Tails thumped in a rhythmic chorus, our own kind of Christmas carol.

“The magic,” I began, once the tales had settled like silt, “is to give, expecting nothing in return except maybe a tail wag or two.”

Off we darted to Barking BBQ to share the secret – the joy in giving. My pupils eyed the plates piled with treats. No time to drool; we had a mission. Like elves, they learned to wrap savory bones and bag biscuits, a symphony of scents playing to the tune of our generosity.

“Remember,” I coached, my voice a blend of lightness and command, “the secret is in the surprise, in the wag of gratitude from another.”

Through the echo of Pyrenean Peak and back down to Collie’s Cuisine, we practiced our craft. Yes, I indulged in some French fries—it was a celebration, after all.

Night draped on Pawsburg, sparkling lights a backdrop as we disseminated our parcels secretively—on doorsteps, in alleyways, under the solemn gaze of statues in the plaza. The essence of Santa Paws enveloped us, a cloak invisible yet palpable.

“I hear Elvira, the cat,” a pup whispered. “She scurries at night, sharing secrets with Gonker.”

“Legends, my young companions,” I clarified with a conspiratorial twinkle. “Elvira, our feline friend, protects some secrets of Pawsburg too.”

We sneaked, we shared, until the Labrador Lunch appeared, a beacon in the dark. And there, on the steps, I instructed them: “Go on without me. The final stretch is yours to walk.”

“But Gonker, aren’t you coming?” A tiny voice broke the stillness.

I gazed into the labyrinth of my backyard kingdom, to my patch of earth and my pumpkin ball. “My heart is with you,” I reassured them, a solitary tear glistening like a distant sleigh bell. “But there are more secrets for me to uncover tonight.”

And so, as I watched them scatter, their young souls pulsing with purpose, my heart sang a silent overture to the Santa Paws they were becoming. I turned my gaze upward where the constellations wove tales of brave canines of Christmas past, my own story now stitched among them.

“You did good, Gonker,” echoed in the ethereal folds of Pawsburg’s air—a voice I could swear belonged to Santa Paws himself. But that, dear friend, is a mystery for another night.

The End.