Hey, it’s Winnie the Holiday Hound! Just wrapped up the most heartwarming adventure in Pawsburgh where I, a spunky mastiff-boxer with a knack for wagging tails and warming hearts, turned Grumpy Edgar into Christmas Edgar! 🎄 With just a watermelon slice and a dose of cheer, I got the town curmudgeon smilin’! Who knew yuletide yarns and a pup’s persistence could rewrite a hermit’s Christmas Eve? 😉🐾 #PawPower

– Winnie the Wonder Dog

Listen to the story here

The night before Christmas in Pawsburgh, not a creature was stirring, not even a squirrel… named Hazel.

I trotted under a twinkling canopy of lights decorating Lhasa Lane, my black and white coat shimming faintly against the vibrant ribbons and bauble-strung lampposts.

“I dare say,” I mused to the crisp evening air, “this holiday does beseech one’s spirit to dance, yet there remains a single soul in Pawsburgh unswayed by the merriment.”

A hermit, they called him, not much for company, particularly of the canine kind. And his name was Edgar, at least that’s what Mr. Whiskerson christened him on account of his tendency to quote Poe when he was especially disgruntled—mostly about the noise and the festivities.

My human once told me, in the tongue of firefighters striving for poetry, that even the smallest ember could revive a hearth. Apprehensive, yet tenacious, I ventured to the edge of town where Edgar’s ramshackle cabin slouched like a scolded pup.

Even the resolute Onyx Otterhound Oasis seemed to shy away from his property, a foreboding air lurking among the skeletal trees surrounding his lot. It was said, Mastiff Meadows themselves bowed when his shadow crept across them, him being their somber sovereign.

Sniffing the air, I picked up the sour scent of citruses mingled with the bittersweet tang of loneliness. Yes, the canny old man cordially detested anything sunny or resembling joy, which would include a jovial dog like me.

“Why, hello there,” I called as his door creaked open, revealing the hunched figure of Edgar.

“Winnie, the mastiff-boxer chimera,” he grumbled, his voice like gravel, his eyes peering out suspiciously. “Have you come to torture me with your relentless cheer?”

“Quite the contrary,” I replied, tail wagging despite myself. “I’ve come bearing a gift, a token from the heart of Pawsburgh.”

I nudged a carefully chosen gift towards him with my nose. Inside was a kind of peace offering: a juicy watermelon slice and a notepad, seeing as he enjoyed his reclusive musings. I hoped he didn’t detest watermelon as much as I detested lemons.

“Watermelon?” he said, eyeing the fruit with a grudging intrigue. “You’ve got quite the audacity to bring that here, but I reckon… it’s a thoughtful audacity.”

He invited me in with a wave of his calloused hand, the kind only loneliness could sculpt. His modest cabin was littered with the trappings of a hermit’s existence—books stacked like makeshift furniture, and an ancient typewriter standing guard at a chipped window.

We sat by a fireplace which hadn’t seen a fire in nigh on a decade, and under the glow of his single, flickering bulb, I indulged him in stories of Pawsburgh’s Christmas cacophony.

I spoke of the Puppy Patisserie’s gingerbread soiree and the Furry Friends Art Gallery’s festive displays. My companion listened, the ice thawing slowly from his hermetic heart.

Little by little, as my narrative weaved through the fabric of our enchanting town, the corners of his mouth began to betray him, curling into an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, smile.

“Perhaps,” Edgar confessed in a rare moment of candor, “the holiday doesn’t seem so wretched with the right company.”

Outside, the first snow of the season swirled and twirled, dusting the world in a shimmering promise of renewal. Inside, under the garish lightbulb, two unlikely friends found solace in stories and silence.

Much later, as I made to leave, the crusty curmudgeon stood at his doorway, watching the silent snowfall. “Winnie?” he called out.

“Yes, Edgar?”

“Thank you.”

That was all. But in-between the lines of his simple gratitude, lay a novel’s worth of meaning.

Thus ended a night before Christmas where even the grumpiest heart in Pawsburgh found warmth in the company of a dog named Winnie, whose affections were as patchy and generous as her coat.

The End.