Hey there,

Just wrapped up an epic gig—a tail-thumping symphony under the stars at Pyrenean Peak. Who knew a squeakless giraffe could lead a whole town in harmony? Certainly not the four-legged folk of Pawsburgh. Gotta say, bringing joy with a beat and leaving paw prints on hearts is what I do best. Night’s over, but the echoes of our collective drumming will resonate for eons—or at least until next year’s shindig.

Sleep tight, Pawsburgh. You’ve got rhythm in your roots now, all thanks to yours truly.

Dream in beats,
The Maestro Mutt (aka Cash) 🐾🥁✨

Listen to the story here

In the twinkling, twilight-twined town of Pawsburgh, there wasn’t a soul unaware of me, Cash, the Great Dane, whose silvery eyes mirrored the moon. You see, I was known not only for my sprawling size and piano-key smile but also for a deeply held secret affection—a love for the cadence of rhythm that could set a whole town’s heart to dancing.

It was a brisk evening during the revelry of the holiday season when my tale unfolds, and Pawsburgh was as aglitter as a dew-dappled web in the morning light. I donned my best collar, polished to a high shine—you could probably see your snout in it—and I set my metronome tail to a festive swing.

Past Dachshund Dale, dogs draped in fine tinsels trotted, and through the frosted gates of Doberman Dunes dashed pups with jingling bells. Yet, it was to Pyrenean Peak that I ambled, a jolly jaunt that would circle back past Puppy Plate, where savory scents of Canine Kabobs could waylay even the most determined of spirits.

Now, don’t go thinking I aimed to strike the timpani or jazz the bass. No, what I had… hides in plain sight, a modest, well-gnawed giraffe toy that squeaked no more. My human had laughed herself to stitches watching me parade it around our abode. But tonight, it played a new part—the drumstick to my paws.

I reached the peak, a blanket of stars my canopy, and looked upon the fur-folk of Pawsburgh gathered below, a mosaic of merriment. My friends spotted me, the wise Lab offering a knowing nod, while the terrier gave an encouraging yip. “Show ’em, Cash,” they seemed to say.

Chest swelling with anticipation, I pawed the ground softly, turning my giraffe into a pendulum that marked the start of my rhythm. Thump, thump, thump: a giant’s lullaby. I played, my heart fluttering up through my chest, up through my throat, into the chill night air.

My music whispered over The Doggy Depot, whistled past The Barking Boutique, and danced through the doors of The Snooty Snout. Faces peeked out, first curious, then enchanted. A melody, unsophisticated yet pure, a drummer pup’s simple beat that chimed like laughter amidst the carols.

The silence gathered as the town listened, entranced by my offering. There wasn’t a growl or a yap; even the whiskers of the most steadfast mutts ceased their twitching. And then, starting a soft, pitter-patter of applause was the Lab, soon joined by the tempest of the terrier’s claps.

Suddenly, Puppy Plate erupted in cheer, Canine Kabobs’ patrons poured out, their tails suspect to wagging off entirely. Every dog from every corner of Pawsburgh found their feet or their seat, and they drummed too, on Tail-Twitching Treats wrappers, on the frozen soil, on their fluffy chests. Our rhythm rose, a crescendo of communal joy, the spirit of the season in every note, every beat.

I ceased my pawing, the snowy ground at Pyrenean Peak now a canvas made of dancing paw prints, my own included. Muzzles turned my way, soulful eyes shimmering like my own. I think my human would have split her sides twice over, seeing us there, a town brought together by a Great Dane and his silent squeaky toy.

As the night wound down, I traipsed home, my giraffe held aloft, a true conductor’s baton. I curled upon my porch, the fireflies blinking their approval. Pawsburgh now slept, but dreams of our harmonious jubilee would dance in our heads, and mine would be of drums—a gentle giant with stormy eyes and a beat that bound us all together in holiday delight.

The End.