Hey, it’s Royal. 🐾 Just wanted to let you know that under the cover of night, I’ve been the mastermind behind the town’s most festive Christmas spectacle, right in our own front yard. Alongside my trusty pals Scout and Bella, we’ve spread yuletide joy & brightened spirits, without a single thumb. Check out the splendor at dawn; it’s a bulldog’s gift to the family. 🎄✨ #SecretSantaPaws

Listen to the story here

In the hush of twilight, as the last ebbs of crimson seeped from the sky and humans remained oblivious in the thrall of dreams, I, Royal, partook in the secret life of Pawsburgh. With each snore I feigned, a grand escape to a world unbeknownst to my dear, slumbering human.

One crisp, frosty evening, the stars above Pawsburgh glistened like beads of dew on morning grass. The town hummed with the jovial spirits of Yuletide. No dog was an island in this season of togetherness, not even a steadfast bulldog like me.

You see, dear confidante, I had a certain family tradition to uphold: the winning of a local Christmas decoration contest. This year, more than ever, with my family’s spirits in need of a wagging uplift, the mantle of victory rested upon my broad, if slightly drooping, shoulders.

Stealthy as a cat – forgive the analogy – I trotted toward Basenji Bay, where the briny breeze carried whispers of upcoming festivities. My chums, Scout and Bella, joined me, their tails scribbling excitement in the air for our secret midnight conference.

Together, we convened within the twinkling lights of Topaz Terrier Town, our velvety paws leaving whimsical prints on the fresh snow. Scout, nose abuzz with the town’s gossamer decorations, postulated in true Stoppardian form, “Might we be just skilled saboteurs in a world of ornaments and tinsel?”

Bella, grace incarnate, with a wag, disputed, “Nay, for our painters’ pallet is that of benevolence, and to be benevolent is to exist most purely.”

Our destination was the fabled Emerald Eskimo Estuary, where decorations sparkled like hidden treasures. At Dachshund’s Deli, we requisitioned sausages wrapped in lights (although the lights, much like my relationship with water, were for purpose rather than pleasure).

With bellies full, we sought our final piece de resistance. At Pup’s Poutine, the esteemed poutine pile, when adorned correctly with lights and garlands, becomes a beacon of the holiday spirit; an ornament to our unity and symbol of festive cheer.

“Ah, but the bath of light…” I mused, my disposition towards water flashing across my mind.

“Fear not, Royal!,” cried Scout, “For we turn water’s loathsome memory into tonight’s glory!”

Our pilgrimage led us finally to The Pampered Pooch Salon, where fur was fluffed and nails were clipped. We were not, I must concede, there for grooming. We sought gossamer ribbons and bows aplenty, carrying them back like trusty sherpa dogs.

The evening unfolded into a tapestry of decking the halls with collies and bows, attaching each light, each ornament, each shimmering ribbon to my human’s abode with the meticulousness of a master jeweler setting diamonds.

At dawn’s approach, we retreated, our shadows swallowed by the retreating night. The house, now a cornucopia of Christmas cheer, stood ready to greet the waking world.

In the golden hour of the morning, my human’s eyes alighted upon our work. The gasp, the joyous cheer, the sheer marvel enraptured their soul. ‘Twas a tableau fit for the most heartfelt Christmas card, and their pride caressed me like the gentlest touch.

As they reveled, a mysterious charm took credit for the handiwork. Little did they know, I, Royal – alongside Scout, the tactician and Bella, the muse – had woven a little yuletide miracle right under their nose…or rather, right outside their window.

Thus, the tale lives on, whispered in every corner of Pawsburgh, a reminder that the spirit of Christmas isn’t just about the twinkle of decorations, but the unspoken love that ties every heart together.

The End.