Hey Mom and Dad,

Whirlwind day at the Jamboree—played my heart out as Pawsburgh’s primo pup percussionist! Kept beats so catchy, even the trees were dancing. Dodged a banana crêpe debacle (phew!) and closed the night with a soulful serenade. Home now, curled up with Joey and our unicorn. Pawsburgh’s rhythm is safe in my paws. Sweet dreams!

Hugs & Tail Wags,
Marnie (aka Moo) 🐾🥁✨

Listen to the story here

Ah, there’s something about Pawsburgh on a crisp morning that sets my tail to wagging before the rest of me’s quite caught up. The town’s a symphony of sniffs and barks that gets under your fur in the best way possible. Today’s the day of the Yuletide Jamboree and, well, I’ve got a tune in my heart that’s itching to be played.

I shake off the sleep and bid farewell to my plush unicorn, vowing to return before nightfall. Joey’s laughter lingers in my ears as I trot out, and there’s a peppy beat that I just can’t shake. I pass Weimaraner Woods, its trees standing like sentries, and through Eskimo Estuary where the sun catches the water just so. It’s all so much more than a postcard invitation to adventure.

As I arrive at Vizsla Valley, I’m greeted by the sight of my comrades in canines setting up stalls and stringing lights. My friends nod and cheer as I pass—they know why I’m here.

“Now, don’t start without warming up,” Mickey pants, his Pomchi ears flopped to perfection.

“I’m pacing myself,” I assure him, patting the ground with my paw. “First the Pawprint Pizzeria for a bite, then I’ll bring down the house.” I could never say no to a slice of their famous ‘Pupperoni Delight’, nor could I start playing on an empty stomach.

There’s an undeniable murmur in the air as I take my place by the makeshift stage near Pup’s Poutine—a favorite among the locals. I find my groove, tapping my paw to the ground, setting a tempo. One by one, the shopkeepers of Doggy Depot and patrons from The Pooch Playhouse begin to encircle me, swaying in time.

The beat I offer is simple—a drummer pup I fancy myself to be—thump-thump, thump-thump—a heartbeat rhythm. It’s the sort of sound that doesn’t need accompaniment; it’s pure, it’s…well, it’s joyful.

“You’re really something, Marnie,” says a Spaniel from somewheres, and I can’t help but puff my chest out. “Simple gifts, greatest joys,” I’d tell ’em, if I was one for speeches.

The day wears on, and with each paw-tap, my audience grows. The pups of Pawsburgh, they’re a good crowd, and I reckon they can tell I’m playing from the soul. My snow-capped fur probably looks a sight, whirling about in the midst of my rhythmic romp.

Now, I never much cared for bananas—can’t stand the things, actually. But would you believe they set up a banana crêpe stand not two tail-lengths away? Mickey catches my grimace, gives a conspiratorial wink, and ushers the bewildering banana-business elsewhere. Crisis averted, I think.

As evening heralds the end of the Jamboree, I’ve got one last tune in me. It’s slower, reflective, like the wind whispering through Weimaraner Woods. For a fleeting moment, I fancy delivery folk might not seem that terrible, if they could only hear this song.

And there it is—the yawn that tells me it’s time to pack up my paws and head on home. With a heart full and content, I wend my way back through the moonlit magic of Pawsburgh, feeling not unlike the holiday hero I never knew I wanted to be.

I return to my unicorn, to Joey’s sleepy smile, and to Mickey’s well-earned rest. “You would’ve been proud,” I murmur to their dreams, settling in for the night. Even a drummer pup needs her beauty sleep, after all. For tomorrow, Pawsburgh awaits, with new beats to discover and maybe, just maybe, a pup cup or two.

The End.