Hey fam,

Wild night! I met my guardian angel, Clarence, who showed me what life would be like without me. Turns out, I’m the heart of the party, the wizard of woof—I bring the cheer to our home and the neighborhood! No worries, though, I’m back and ready to make our everyday extraordinary. Hugs, tail wags, and face licks to follow.

Charlie Bug 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

I call it a quirk of fate, the kind one might read about in a novella, that my Christmas Eve went from the doldrums to the divine quicker than you can say “bacon-flavored chew toy.” There I was in the backyard, my wistful gaze cut through the gauzy fabric of twilight. The backyard’s grass-tipped stage bore the ghosts of our merriest victories; Buddy and I reigning supreme in a canine cabaret of catch.

“Why so blue, Charlie?” a voice called out, mellifluous and jarring in the silent eve. Was it the wind? A dream? I turned to find a shimmering Sheepdog, an ethereal leash trailing behind like stardust.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” I quipped, the reality not fully sunk in.

“I’m Clarence, your guardian angel. And tonight, Charlie, I’m here to show you a thing or two about impact, about worth.”

I snorted, “Impact? I’m just a Boston Terrier with a penchant for Slim Jims and the high art of tug-of-war.”

Clarence led me through Pawsburg as it bathed in a Yuletide glow. The Rottweiler Ridge shimmered with fairy lights, and Briard Bridge boasted garlands that hung like Cheshire cat smiles.

Our first stop was Buddy’s house. Through the frost-kissed window, we saw him moping in a despondent dog pile of one. “Without you,” Clarence muttered, immersing me in a scene void of my presence, “Buddy never learned the joy of the chase, the glory of mid-sprint.”

Onward to The Barking Boutique, where I’d often left the staff in stitches with my candid observations. Now, no canine comedy, no charisma—just a somber procession of retail transactions.

Pom’s Pies, where I’m somewhat of a neighbourhood celebrity for my unrivaled disdain for carrot cake, was next. Now empty of my esprit de corps, the pies sat unappreciated, the staff echoing the void left by my absence.

Each scene unfolded like a chapter from an unwritten book of desolation, my furry friends adrift without the keystone of my companionship.

Was I truly the linchpin of such high spirits? A canine Capra-cum-Capote figure, threading hilarity through the humdrum? ‘Twas a revelation, like finding an extra treat buried in the kibble.

The pièce de résistance? My human’s abode. The mirth I knew—it was gone, swallowed by the silence of my unpresence. They sat, glancing at my leash, their eyes telling a story of heartfelt loss.

“Guardian angel or not,” I confessed, “you’ve got me pegged all wrong. I’m no hero, just a tail-wagger who loves his folks.”

Clarence chuckled, “But that’s just it, Charlie. Love—the philanthropy of existence, the alchemy turning daily routines into daily rituals. You are the metronome of joy, the rhapsodist of routine.”

Before I could rebut, we were back in the backyard, the veil lifted, and the familiar nocturne of Pawsburg embraced me.

“Bah humbug,” I whispered to myself, but the words tasted of irony. For the first time, the backyard felt less like an empty stage and more like a canvas, a tableau vivant of shared stories, of the affections I so readily professed.

“Does this change things?” Clarence’s voice faded.

“You bet your wagging tail it does,” I replied. In the dark, a somber smile grew—the dawning of mirth-masked melancholy.

With renewed purpose, I awaited the return of light, of laughter, of life. Because what’s a Wonderful Bark if not shared with those you love?

The End.