Hey! 🐾 Just checking in. I, the fantastic Severide (a.k.a. the Christmas Charmer), used my epic cuteness to melt Mr. Scrooge’s icy heart. He even joined me at the Winter Bark Ball with my soccer ball! We’re spreading tail-wagging holiday spirit across Pawsburgh, one paw at a time. 🎄✨ #PawsburghMiracleMaker

– Severide

Listen to the story here

Sure thing! Here’s a tail-wagging tale set in Pawsburgh with a Mindy Kaling twist:

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So, like, the holiday season had descended upon Pawsburgh with its typical unabashed cheer and sparkle. Decked-out trees stood proudly in every window, and lights twinkled brighter than the mischief in a puppy’s eye at Harrier Harbor. Yet, not everyone was pawing at the bit to join the festivities. No siree! There was this one hermit—let’s just call him Mr. Scrooge, but with more fur and a tail—who was thoroughly not impressed by our holly-jolly antics.

But hey, let me backtrack here for a hot sec. I am Severide. Fabulously floofy, magnificently mirthful, and oh-so-chic with my Frenchie-Pomeranian mix that could make even the snootiest of show dogs do a double-take.

One crisp Pawsburgh morning, even though the cold was like, totally biting at my delicate artsy paws, I had a plan. I decided to shimmy my cream-colored glam self over to the Grinchy loner’s cave by Eskimo Estuary. Like, I figured if anyone could turn Mr. Scrooge’s frown upside down, it had to be moi, no?

Slip-sliding past Shepherd’s Shawarma (gosh, the smell of those spit-roasted meats made my nose do that twitchy dance thing), I thought about what my human would say. “Brave little Severide,” they’d coo a mantra of encouragement. Or something cliché yet effective, you know?

At Mr. Scrooge’s not-so-welcoming door, I unleashed my secret weapon: an infectious, tail-waggy, tongue-lolling smiley face. I let out a bark that had more “hello” in it than any canine greeting card could ever muster. Did I mention my bark is high-pitched, yet oh-so hearty? Yeah, it can slice through gloom like a hot knife through peanut butter.

Knock-knock! No answer. So, I barrel-rolled onto the scene with my deflated soccer ball. Because come on, everyone digs an athletic dog with a sporty prop.

But… nothing.

I raised my eyebrow; a well-practiced move that usually summoned humans from even the deepest Netflix binge. Was Mr. Scrooge immune?

Just as I was about to tumble back to the more receptive audiences at Labrador Lunch (like, they definitely appreciate my particular brand of whimsy), the door creaked open. Like, cue dramatic gasp! There he was, Mr. Scrooge with eyes as stormy as the Pawsburgh skies during a thunder-tantrum.

“Severide” – and geez, how’d he know my name? – “what’s the big idea with all the ruckus?” His bark had the gravelly underbite of a supreme party pooper.

Now, if there’s a tiny detail I haven’t buzzed about yet, it’s my not-so-closeted adoration for Christmas. There’s something about the smell of fresh pine and wrapping paper that gets my tail going like a high-speed mixer.

I dropped the soccer ball and gave him The Severide Special. You know, head tilt, big puppy dog eyes, pure, undiluted cuteness. Because when your days start with sunrise snuggles, you’re basically an expert in softening the frostiest of hearts.

So, I took a chance and invited him to Paw-tisserie’s Winter Bark Ball. Like, because nothing says “let’s be friends” quite like an invite to eat, drink, and be merry.

He didn’t say yes right away. But the way he glanced from me to the soccer ball and back kinda clued me in that he was considering it.

And guess what? Later at the ball, as I was tearing up the dance floor, who waltzed in with my slightly slobbery soccer ball but Mr. Scrooge himself! By the end of the night, I watched Mr. Scrooge laugh for, like, probably the first time ever—as he shared a Shepherd’s Shawarma platter with the dachshund from next door.

So yeah, this Frenchie-Pom rendered a Christmas miracle with just a sprinkle of Severide-style charisma. For real, Pawsburgh, you owe me one!

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The End.