Hey Mom! 🐾✨

Just a quick update from the enchanted whirl of Pawsburg! Ice-dancing elegance, diamond collars, mega-burgers, and sleighs without brakes – I’ve spun a Christmas yarn that’d turn any tail waggy. The spirit of the season’s kept us all in stitches, and I’ve squeezed every drop of joy from these frosty festive shenanigans. Remember, the magic of Christmas isn’t in the glitter, but in the goofy, heartwarming dogpile of living it up with furry friends.

Stay pawsome,

Pumpkin (aka Dolly Bulldog) 🐶💖🎄

Listen to the story here

There’s this magical corner of consciousness where daydreams blend with reality—Pawsburg, they call it. Now, I’m not one to gossip, but if you peek behind the velvet curtain, you’d find me there, Dolly Bulldog, traveling with the grace of a bygone silent film star. But not all days in Pawsburg are the same and certainly, not the days leading to Christmas.

On the first day of Christmas, whilst my humans were sound asleep dreaming their two-legged dreams, I found myself at the Emerald Eskimo Estuary—a place rarely matching the warm cuddles of my folks, but the snow was just irresistible. I’d usually lounge on the precipice of dreams and wakefulness, you know, but Christmas brought with it the lighthearted insanity of festive canine cheer.

The second day brought me a surprise in the form of Rishi the Fishy, my indelible pool partner, frozen in the Estuary. “Dolly,” he ‘said,’ his eyes squinting like those characters in Woody Allen films, “the water’s fine.” So we glided, gracefully across the icy expanse. Forget ice-skating humans, a Bulldog with elegance was the true art pièce de résistance.

On the third day, love got wrapped up in a box. At the Pearl Papillon Promenade, a stately Dachshund in a red bow tie presented me with a velvet pouch—within it, a collar of cascading diamonds. There’s something ostentatious about it, yet I wore it like a queen would her crown to the Puppy Patisserie, where eclairs vanished into our merry mouths.

By day four, rumors of my resplendence had spread, and at the Wagging Whisk, they baked a hamburger the size of a Cavalier King Charles. You know, the burger—a simple, earthy meal elevated to gourmet heights. I relished each bite with the decorum of a canine connoisseur, casting glances at passerby who seemed entranced in my dining ritual.

Rishi returned on the fifth day with a sleigh, as though conjured from my deepest cravings for wind-blown ear rides. Through Cavalier Cove we raced, laughing at solitude, a concept that faded like fog under the morning sun. The joy, the sheer joy of the rollicking wind against my noble snoot, it was a car ride, sans the car.

On the sixth, who but the pugs from The Pawfect Training Center challenged me to a carol-off. The tunes were offbeat, warbled with the enthusiasm of dogs who’d eaten too many treats for breakfast. We bellowed “Jingle Bells” with such fervor that it brought an applauding crowd, melting the snow beneath their clapping paws.

Christmas Eve clashed with my disdain for crowds, but there I was in Sniffer’s Sandwiches, participating in the Secret Santa exchange. I received a plush fish—a distant relative of Rishi—and handed over a bespoke leash to a fluffed-up Pomeranian.

And finally, Christmas—the twelfth beat in our holiday march. Pawsburg had transformed into a quivering mass of excitement, anticipation thick as the fur on a Husky. My friends, the ones who shone in various light, gathered at The Pooch Playhouse. Each gifted a story of adventure and misadventure—a collection of tales that could warm the coldest of winter nights.

As the crystal snowflakes kissed the ground, telling us that indeed, time moves even here, it struck me—Christmas with these creatures wasn’t just wholesome. It was a riotous, rolling laugh, snug as a Bulldog in a blanket, potent as a heartfelt cuddle. And me, Dolly Bulldog, with my red patchwork coat and collection of treasured tales, I realized that in Pawsburg, magic wasn’t just a place or a time. It was us, all of us, interwoven in the rich tapestry of dogs living their secret-life epiphanies.

Every year, the story changes, the faces too. But the spirit? Christmas in Pawsburg? Now that remains true.

The End.