Hey Mom,

Just a quick tail-wag of an update from me, Winchester. I’ve been orchestrating the famed Twelve Dogs of Christmas here in Pawsburgh and let me tell you, it’s been a howl! From scavenger hunts on Malamute Mountain to skateboard capers down cobbled lanes, I’ve proved to be quite the leader. Fended off Berry and his vacuum steed, avoided berry-flavored mishaps, and now we’re wrapping up with a heartwarming Christmas eve gathering. Thanks for believing in your Poo Bear. Merry Christmas, Winchester 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

As I bulldoze through the snow-powdered streets of Pawsburgh, the smells of the season assail my nose — the rich meaty scent of Setter’s Steakhouse intermingling with the sweet waft from Barker’s Bakery. You see, today isn’t just any day, it’s the first day of the Twelve Dogs of Christmas, and my paws itch with the anticipation of it all.

“Winchester,” they’d say back at my human’s abode, with that familiar underestimation lacing their tone, “you wouldn’t last a day organizing something as grand as the Twelve Dogs of Christmas.” But here, in Pawsburgh, amidst my brethren of boundless bark and wag, my mettle is untested no more.

The first day calls for a surprise, a treasure hunt of sorts. We’re off to Malamute Mountain, where I’ve buried bones from Setter’s, each meticulously gnawed to convey personal memoirs of a tantalizing meal savored in the company of friends — an initiating rite to the festivities.

Past the opalescent glow of Opal Pomeranian Park, I gather my cohort, each dog a character to my plot, a narrator in their own right. We’re a tapestry of tails, my dear reader, a wheel of woofs, a motley crew spun from the magical loom of doghood diversity.

“Charge not into the fray without a plan,” I instruct, my voice a deep, rolling bark that seems to bounce off the quieted air. We set off paw to paw to claim what’s rightfully ours— the joyous bounty of friendship veiled beneath powdered white.

But let me not wander without sharing the twists of my tale. On the second day, as the morning sun cast a lazy glow over the Blue Basenji Bay, my most egregious foe reared its ugly head, or should I say, its ugly snorkel. The vacuum — that blasted contraption — chased by Berry, the daft Dachshund that bore it, donned in jingle bells and mistletoe. You can only imagine the quiver in my paws, the droop in my jowls. Yet through the comedic folly, my chums rallied, and we led the dance away from my nemesis and straight into the embrace of Paw-tisserie — thank heavens, there’s no berry-flavored anything on the day’s menu.

Are you starting to see, my dear compatriot in reading? The days unfold in adventurous crescendos, where my aversion to berries becomes the accidental savior that curtails Berry’s well-meaning torment.

On the third day, the skateboard saga — ah, the way my heart thrills at the clatter of wheels on cobblestone! The Barking Boutique boasts a fine collection of doggy skateboards, one for each of us as we carve the pathways, through tented stalls filled with yuletide trinkets and laughter — mine most resounding amidst them.

The days pass, each more resplendent than the last. My friends — the warriors of wag and whisperers of woof — partake in escapades from Best in Show Photography sessions to hide-and-seek among Pet Partners Pet Supplies’ aisles.

And now, the eve of Christmas beckons, gathering us in a circle at the heart of Pawsburgh. The town, aglow with fairy lights, hums a quiet symphony. The skateboards lie still, the treasure hunt complete, the vacuum long forgotten. We share stories, soaked in the raw, natural essence of our encounters, fleshing out the bones that once lay beneath Malamute Mountain.

If my human could only see me now — Winchester, the ringleader, the narrator, the loyal friend — basking not in sun, but in the warm embrace of camaraderie, his bulldog heart full to the brim with the spirit of Christmas, no berry in sight to dampen the cheer.

So let the rain patter and thunder clap; on this twinkling Christmas night, I am home, surrounded by my legendary circle, tales spun under the twinkling tapestry of Pawsburgh skies. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

The End.