Hey Tail-wagger,

Just wanted to say, in this year’s Christmas tale, I’m the furry moral compass of Pawsburgh. Sprinkled a bit of wolfish wisdom to mend a retriever feud and sparked a wave of generosity that’s got the whole town howling with holiday spirit. Oh, and I served as a nightly reminder of what Christmas really means from atop Bloodhound Bluffs. It’s not all chews and naps here; even a sophisticated canine has to spread some cheer.

Catch you under the mistletoe,
Ace

Listen to the story here

As the first blush of dawn tinged the sky with pink, the quaint little town of Pawsburgh twinkled beneath its snow-capped roofs, a world away from its day-lit identity. I’m Ace, by the way, you might remember me – a dash of wolfish charm with a penchant for wild strolls and berry delicacies.

On a day that promised nothing but the ordinary, a tiny jingle echoed through the frosted pines, a sound that pricked my ears and whispered of Christmas adventures untold. It seemed the festive spirit had tiptoed into the heart of every canine in Pawsburgh, tugging at collars to break away from the mundane and embrace the yuletide warmth that awaited.

I ventured into town, my midnight fur dusted with frost, passing by Diamond Doberman Dunes where a group of jolly Great Danes were sculpting snow-canines that would’ve made Michelangelo drop his chisel and pick up a milkbone instead.

Along the busy streets of Pawsburgh, the aroma of Paw Pad Thai wafted through the air, tempting every drooling soul, while Chihuahua’s Chimichangas sizzled up a storm. “Delicious, absolutely,” I’d say, if it weren’t for my taste buds’ unyielding allegiance to blueberry fare. But hey, it was Christmas, and Pawsburgh was the Michelin star of doggie cuisine.

I wasn’t there for the food, though. No. Today was about something … bigger. I had my own quest to embark upon, something about forgiveness, generosity, and… oh, what’s that other thing human folks go on about? Right, the true spirit of Christmas.

The Howling Husky Hardware Store bustled with enthusiastic barkers. Perhaps too enthusiastic. Remember that cheerful family of Retrievers? The Golden gang? They had a spat. Something about chewing up Uncle Ruff’s favorite elf slippers – a tragic Christmas comedy if ever there was one. I, Ace, had decided to bring peace to the pack. My old artist human would’ve painted it as a furry Norman Rockwell scene.

In sneaks my wolfish wisdom, into the midst of fluffy tensions at The Tail Wagger’s Tailor while they tried on their Santa suits – because obviously, every dog needed to be Santa. “Listen,” I said, “we’re all Santa’s helpers, right? Fetching the spirit of Christmas?” A bark of approval, a wagging tail of consent. “Well, let’s not hoard all the chew toys of wisdom. Share a bit of that elf slipper, uh, love, around.”

And wouldn’t you know it, they sniffed out the wisdom in my wolfish words. The eldest, Goldie, pawed over a raggedy ol’ stuffed reindeer – a peace offering for Uncle Ruff. “This once belonged to a wolf with impeccable taste,” I said with a smirk, thinking about my own cherished rabbit back at the lair. A small act of generosity, a hand-pawed olive branch.

Word spread faster than a Pomeranian on a treadmill. The Retrievers? They were forgiving. Generosity? It became the Bark du Jour at Chowhound’s Chophouse, where plates were shared (yeah, in theory; ever seen a Beagle share food?) and tales of Christmas cheer echoed.

I watched the tapestry of Christmas weaved through the street, a grand design of joy and camaraderie. I may have no stockings to hang or ugly sweaters to begrudgingly wear, but this was my family of paws and fur, each of us a thread in this holiday revelry.

As the starlit Pawsburgh night drew its blanket over the town, I lay on Bloodhound Bluffs, gazing at the twinkling lights below. Surrounded by my friends, the creatures of the night, I realized that Christmas – with all its forgiveness, generosity, and spirit – fit rather snugly into the paws of us dogs.

A howl to the night, a nod to the moon, and I, Ace, declared it a Christmas Tail well spun. Maybe tomorrow, I’d muse on New Years’ resolutions. But for now, let’s keep those just a whisper in the pines.

The End.