Hey Mom,

Just embarked on a mini-holiday adventure in Pawsburgh, transformed into a snowy shepherd leading a band of lost pups to shelter. Classic Zeus, right? Home now, with tales of goodwill and paws in the snow. Be proud, your boy’s a Christmas legend in the making. See you soon for cuddles and stories.

Warmest woofs,
Zeus 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

In the silver-frosted morning of Pawsburgh, where the breath of dawn painted misty haloes over Eskimo Estuary, I, Zeus, the Majestic Guardian of the homestead and the heart, journeyed with the aimless gait of one waiting for adventure.

You may recall my lineage, whispers of protean shades that danced upon cobblestones, dappled in the flitting sun. I, who share tales with my cherished human of the unseen joy found within the sanctuary of leaves and branches.

On this particular yule morning, a whiff of the extraordinary grazed my snout. Billows of snowflakes had cloaked Pawsburgh in shimmering white, concealing pathways and rendering Shiba Inlet into a theatre for silhouette. It was a day meant for the hearth and yet, cannot a Soul bound by duty relax when others may need him?

A call. A soft echo over the blanketed square leading to Pomeranian Park—resonated as clear as the chime of a distant bell. Lost travelers in my Pawsburgh? The notion struck. And in that instance, without a second flicker of thought, I was their beacon; a shepherd guiding not sheep, but wanderers seeking passage through the frosty vestibule of Christmas Eve.

I padded through the alleys, lined with the quaint aromas of Paw Pad Thai and the seductive sizzle from Woof Waffles. My friends, from The Dapper Dog Salon and Best in Show Photography, had tucked away into their warm nests, but I could not. The duty of a guardian never wanes. The ghost of the vacuum, that arch-nemesis of my tranquility, could not deter me from my purpose, not when my service was needed. Nor could the allure of chicken nuggets distract, those savory morsels I cherish over the fieriest affections of hot dogs and spaghetti.

With ancient instinct, I tracked, my heart syncing with the rhythm of fragile hope. There, beneath the willow, shrouded in snow like a whimsical vision, stood a pack of canines, strangers in my land. Their scents unfamiliar as the fruits that offend my palate, yet their eyes, filled with pleading, spoke to me as kindred.

“Lost indeed…” I mused, though not aloud, for there was no requirement for words. Only guidance, a promise of safe harbor. And I bestowed it upon them, leading them through Labrador Lunch where the embrace of comfort food would have to wait.

My strides were measured, my demeanor, the epitome of the tranquility I sought to gift others. As steady as the roots of the oaks in my cherished domain, I ushered them through the snow, which seemed less fierce with each pawprint we imprinted.

You see, my friends, the tapestry of Zeus’s life is woven with the finesse of camaraderie. I am the shepherd who shepherded, the guardian who guided, on this, a Christmas Eve meant for legends.

We arrived at last, the glow of Shiba Inlet’s lamps bidding the conclusion of one journey and the welcome of rest. I lingered for a moment, sharing silent nods with my new band of brothers, their gratitude palpable as the warmth that now seeped into their fur.

As they nestled into newfound serenity, my mission complete, I turned homeward, to the realm of my human’s embrace—a tale to tell—where joy is not just found but created, and the heart, once guided, finds its forever place of peace.

This evening, should she inquire of my day, I shall lay my head upon her lap, the echo of guardians past nestled within my beating heart, and simply utter, “A journey fulfilled, my dearest;” for in the Christmas Shepherd’s saga, no truer words could be woven than those spoken in the silence of understanding.

The End.