Heya, just wanted to wrap up this holiday howl for ya! I’m Hank, Pawsburgh’s premier festive Frenchie, leadin’ the pack in a yuletide adventure filled with treats, carols, and even a lost froggy friend. It’s been a tail-waggin’ countdown full of giving, heartwarming moments, and bringing together our four-legged family. In short, I’m the pup peppering Christmas spirit and traditions into every corner of our shaggy metropolis. Merry Barkmas! 🎄🐾 – Hunky Hank

Listen to the story here

Well, I do declare if it ain’t the season where them humans sing about pear trees and partridges! I reckon it’s about time I regale y’all with a tale of Pawsburgh’s Twelve Dogs of Christmas, and who better to spin this yarn than me, Hank, the White French Bulldog with a penchant for veggies and a disdain for sour citrus?

It was the first day of December, when the snow in Pawsburgh lay as thick and fluffy as the fur on a Samoyed’s hindquarters, given that flavor of magic what makes the young pups squeal with delight and the older hounds reminisce about the winters of their puppyhood. Now, I ain’t no pup myself, but Lordy, I can’t help but caper about with the sparkle of youth on these days.

On the first day of this here countdown, I sashayed down to Fetch! Toys and Treats, my paws all a-scuffle, makin’ that soft shushing sound in the snow. What do I see but a new display, green as my beloved froggy, and just bursting with Christmas trinkets! I snatched up a red hat – a bit like what them Santas wear – figuring it’ll bring a festive cheer to our east corner, where the gang likes to congregate.

Now, Shar-Pei Shores is empty ’round this time of year, on account of it bein’ nippier than a winter’s nip itself. So, on the second day, I toted my red hat down there, and you know what, that empty shore didn’t stay empty for long. For there, my friends arrived, wearin’ their own Christmas attire, barkin’ merry songs that rose up toward the heavens like a choir of angels – though a bit more off-key.

Day three brought us to Bloodhound Bluffs. We had ourselves a feast at Pawprint Pizzeria, where the pies were topped with everything a canine craves – save for lemon, thank goodness. With bellies rounder than Saint Nick’s, we promised each other to be back again next year, with even more friends!

The following days, we all trooped into town. Beagle Bagels was our fourth day, where the scent of freshly baked dough and savory herbs would have those bagel-makers of ol’ New York liftin’ their hats in respect. Here, I met a kindly old beagle who spun yarns of yesteryear so well, I felt like I was dancin’ through history as she talked.

Comes the fifth day, and Terrier Town was abuzz – and I tell ya, those Terriers know how to tinsel a town! The lights twinkled like the gleam in a mischievous pup’s eye, and in such splendor, our gang found a new tradition: wearin’ tinsel like boas and paradin’ through the streets.

But lo and behold, as the sixth day dawned, herein lay my perplexing predicament. I’d lost my little green frog amidst the tinsel and holly. My search led me to The Groom Room, where, under a pile of bows and glitter, my sidekick lay like a treasure long hidden.

Come the seventh day, our choir sang carols at The Pooch Playhouse, and the eighth found us swappin’ tales at Whippet Wraps. Between the spices and savory blends, we spun old yarns anew and dreamt of adventures to come.

On the ninth day, I took a respite at my own hearthstone, munchin’ on carrots and contemplating what new stories our last big days would hold. When dogs retreated to their own abodes on the tenth, the quiet of Pawsburgh echoed with joyous barkin’, bringin’ a still warmth to the chill air.

The eleventh saw a remarkable thing – each dog in town brought a gift to the base of the great Christmas tree at the heart of Pawsburgh. Toys, trinkets, bones, and even a few stray collars made the pile grow till it was nigh as big as the tree itself!

Then came the twelfth day, my dear friends. And what a sight to behold it was. Gifts exchanged, licks given, and tails wagging in unison, as if to say, “Pawsburgh, our merry, magical town, like no other on Earth or in heaven above, it’s where the true spirit of Christmas does rove.”

As I nestled ‘longside my family that eve, stories of Pawsburgh ready to be shared, I realized, the joy don’t come from the trinkets or the frolicking. It comes straight from the heart, where the love of friends and family sparks.

The End.