Hey there!

You won’t believe my night – turned into the Nutcracker Pup, danced through a storm, and squared off with thunder like a four-legged Fred Astaire! Think you had fun on vacay? Pawsburgh secrets, can’t wait to spill! 🐾

Catch ya on the flip side,
Nemo the Nimble

Listen to the story here

There I was, Nemo the Springer Spaniel, in the shaggy throes of another yawn-worthy Earth evening, when the world as I knew it was about to be flipped on its head, scratched behind the ears, and given a good ol’ belly rub. With my humans away—I’ll never understand their obsession with ‘vacation’—I wriggled my way through the doggy door of possibility and into the enchanting streets of Pawsburgh.

No sooner had my paws clattered onto the cobblestones of Jade Jack Russell Junction than the world around me unfurled into a Christmas tapestry straight out of a dog-eared storybook. The atmosphere was electric—no, not the kind that zaps you when you chew cables, more like the spark of excitement that zings through your fur at the word ‘walkies’.

“Nemo! Over here!” barked Whisper, that svelte greyhound diva whose speed was so legendary that the mailman still had nightmares about her. She was decked out in Christmas finery.

“What’s all the hullabaloo?” I asked, my ears pacing with intrigue.

“It’s the Eve of Tails, nimble Nemo!” Whisper called me nimble on account of all the socks I’ve stealthily snatched in my day. “Tonight, everything changes!”

Before I could question further, we jostled our way through the hordes of hounds, past the scent-illating Snout Snacks where my nostrils were assaulted by fragrant feast-fumes, and beyond Mastiff’s Meals where the biggest bowls you ever did see filled with… legal chicken!

“Legal chicken’s the best kind,” I muttered, my speech slightly slurred by the drool.

Finally, we reached the center of the festivities harbored by the exquisite Pearl Papillon Promenade. There, a ginormous Christmas tree towered, decorated with squeaky toys and bacon strips. It was a sight to set even the most noble tail a-waggin’.

“This,” began Whisper, a mysterious twinkle dancing in her gaze, “is the enchanted tree of Pawsburgh.”

I should’ve known things were about to get even more tail-spinningly surreal.

As the clock struck the magical midnight hour, a sudden spark of light burst forth and hit me squarely. I felt a merry jig in my genes, and wouldn’t you know it, I began to transform! My fur shimmered and shifted, and where once stood a sprightly Springer, now there stood a prince of Pawsburgh!

I was the Nutcracker Pup, barking orders and dishing out wags to any toy that moved. Whisper, now a princess herself, led me in a dance that was half waltz, half chase-your-own-tail. We spun, we twirled, we leapt through the air, as if some invisible puppeteer had tied strings to our very limbs.

Euphoria sputtered to a halt when a rumble disrupted my reverie. Not the growl of a dog, but thunder, which did more to ruffle my fur than a visit to The Groom Room. Every toy prince or princess scattered in a furry flash, but Whisper stood firm.

“Face your fears, Prince Nemo! Dance through the storm!”

Heart thudding like paws on linoleum, I did what no thunder-fearing dog would do. I danced. I danced through Shar-Pei Shores, past the fearful tomcat who merely rolled his eyes, and danced with the chatty parrot, who squawked encouragement.

As whimsically wild as any storm, the dance endured until dawn glimmered, turning every dewdrop into a silver bauble. And just like that, the spell broke; my princely paws returned to their floppy Spaniel status.

The world awoke, and the magic of Pawsburgh once more became our secret. I returned home, where I nestled under the safety of the antique coffee table, a once-and-future prince with ear-flopping, tail-wagging, thunder-fearing adventures of the most peculiar night to whisper to the dawn.

And if you think this tail’s over, well, my friend, it’s only just begun.

The End.