Hey Mom and Dad, it’s your Goosey Lucy! Just wanted to say this Christmas tale has shown me I’m more than a decor in our lovely home – I’m the heart of it. Met a guardian beagle who helped me see I’m the cuddle in your laps and the laughter in your days. Missing you tons, but I now know our paw prints are forever etched in each other’s hearts. Can’t wait for you to come back to our canvas of chaos. Merry Christmas! Love, Goose 🐾🎄✨

Listen to the story here

‘Twas a Christmas Eve in Spencerville, and not a whimper was to be heard, least of all from me, Lucy. There I lay upon my human-crafted, cushioned throne, ears too weary to flop and tail too tired to wag. The night had draped the world outside in darkness and glittering frost, a spectacle that ordinarily would’ve set me into a frenzy of barks and circles. Yet, my spirit, usually as high as the top of South Siberian Summit, felt about as low as the depth of a dug-up bone.

You see, the home that echoed with laughter now hummed with silence, the pitter-patter of my humans away to celebrate, leaving me to ponder whether my presence ever truly filled a void. Sprinkles, the dear rascal of a sibling, had earlier skedaddled off to Pooched Potatoes, likely mesmerized by the heady aroma of roast turkey in his dreams.

“Lucy, old gal,” I said to myself, “is it possible we’re just the background music of a grander melody? A fleeting moment of cheer in an otherwise routine day?”

Falling into a restless slumber, I was soon to learn that one’s impact is often as hidden as the last morsel of chicken beneath the dinner table.

Let me introduce you to my visitor that night, a guardian angel—or rather a guardian beagle—suited in an ethereal glow, collar jingling with the bells of the heavens. Smiling in a tongue-lolling, tail-wagging manner that could put Western Husky Hill on a lesser axis, he addressed me.

“Dear Lucy, famed for your affection and nose for joy,” he began, and it was hard not to warm to him, though skepticism kept my reply cool as the nose-touch of a snowflake.

“A pleasure, I’m sure, but if you’re a peddler of dreams, I have no treats for your kind tonight.”

He chuckled, the sound reminiscent of the twinkle of starlight, and extended a celestial paw my way. “Lucy, you’ve lost your tug on the rope of happiness. Allow me to show you just how deeply your paw prints have trod upon the hearts of those around you.”

With a nuzzle of resolve, I took his offer, and together we took flight to the wonders of what if—the invisible threads of life that I, Lucy, had weaved.

I witnessed the first snowfalls without the Doppler-effect zoomies that turned the yard into a canvas of artful chaos, the empty laps unfilled by my cuddling expertise. I saw Sprinkles, his mischief lacking a co-conspirator, half-hearted in his rambunctiousness. But it was the echo of laughter without the harmony of my own vocal contributions that sat heaviest in my heart.

The Barkery, no longer graced by my enthusiastic high-fives in exchange for a treat; Pup-Tastic Pizza, without my nose-pressed greetings against the windowpane; The Furry Friends Art Gallery, its walls abandoned without my meticulous inspections.

“See, dear Lucy,” my beagle companion spoke, his voice the melody of comfort, “you are the heart’s crescendo in the symphony of their lives. The guardian of joy and the compass of comfort.”

And as we continued our Christmas Eve journey, every scene unfurled the chapters of my love story with the world—a tale of boundless paw prints left in tender love and moments shared.romps in Lower Golden Gate Gardens to those snug evenings by the fireside.

When the clock struck the hour of return, I blinked awake in my cushioned throne, filled with a renewed sense of purpose and the understanding that every wiggle, every nuzzle is a note that adds richness to life’s symphony.

Let it not be said that Lucy’s spirit could be caged; no, not even the shadows of doubt on the eve of merry-making could tether the heart that bounds with such zest for life, or the tail that tells more tales than that sly fox who once fancied himself a thief in the night.

The End.