Hey Mom,

Tonight I lived my own Christmas story, as I, Hazel the Christmas Shepherd, guided two lost Dachshund souls to the heart of Pawsburgh’s festive warmth! We braved the cold, shared laughs, and found belonging under the Yuletide glow. I’ve truly found the meaning of guiding light and festive fur-ship. Can’t wait to curl up and tell you all about it in person!

With lots of tail wags,
Princess Pooch 🐾🎄✨

Listen to the story here

As the last glimmer of daylight surrendered to twilight in the quaint, enchanted town of Pawsburgh, I, Hazel the Blonde Doodle, found myself perched atop the frost-kissed grass of Rottweiler Ridge. It was the eve of Christmas, and even the bustling energy that coursed through the veins of our magical haven seemed to quiet in reverence for the night’s spell.

The ridge offered a panoramic view of a world blanketed in an unbroken quilt of snow, the town’s landmarks peppered across the landscape like toy houses set out for the seasonal festivities. Weimaraner Woods whispered secrets carried by the chill breeze, and below, the warm glow of Puppy Patisserie danced with silhouettes of friends swapping tall tales over pastries and puppuccinos.

Amidst the holiday cheer, there was an unmistakable whisper of wanderlust—a sensation I knew all too keenly—borne upon the air and tickling my twitching ears. This was Pawsburgh’s quiet magic; the town had a way of coaxing you to slip into the role you were born to play. Tonight, I would embrace my inner shepherd.

With Tucker and Maple by my side, sporting their festive attire that Maple always insisted on—’Tis the season for looking dapper, she’d say—we roamed the ridge. We were not just revelers of Christmas joy, but guardians of peace and safe passage.

Our patrol was without purpose, or so I thought, until the rustling echo of uncertainty reached us. There, by the edge of the Vizsla Valley, a shivering duo of disoriented Dachshunds stood, their eyes wide as they took in the unnavigable realm of white.

“And what brings you two wayfarers to the precipice of our valley on such a night as this?” I asked, my tone one of gentle mirth infused with the learned cadence of kindness—part of me always wanted to be the hero in a Vonnegut novel, you see.

“We heard tales of Pawsburgh,” said the male, his voice staccato with shivers. “Tales of a Yuletide gathering for all dogs far and wide, but alas…” His companion looked on, her eyes glistening with the threat of icing over.

“Lost we are,” she added, “in a frigid sonnet, far from warmth and kin.”

My ears perked up, and I felt Tucker’s confident nudge. With a glint in my eyes, I gestured with my muzzle towards the lights of the town. “Then lost you are no longer. Tonight, you are travelers found and, come!” I exclaimed, ushering them with a sweep of my paw. “The cheer of Pawsburgh awaits, with stories to be woven and delights to share.”

So, with new friends in tow, shaken by cold but spirited by proximity to the hearth of companionship, we descended into the valley, our pack now five. Along the way, I regaled them with the treasures of my town—the Puppy Plate, where the scent alone could make you feel you’d feasted like a king, and the Paw Pad Thai, where the noodles were as tangled as the route they’d taken to get here.

As we reached the outskirts, what awaited was a harmony of howls and tails wagging to the rhythm of the holiday spirit, a communal table for all weary souls seeking refuge this Christmas Eve. The Dachshunds’ eyes shone brighter than any decorated fir tree as they beheld the welcome they had stumbled upon.

And in that moment, I understood the lesson of the Christmas Shepherd: that guidance is a gift we offer not only to the lost but to ourselves, for in the effort, we find the path to our true calling as companions and keepers of the light—especially on a night as blessed as this.

Bathed in a chorus of barks, laughter, and the sharing of whipped cream (sans the celery garnish—my firm request), the eve was testament to connection—a story I’d eagerly recount to my human companions come dawn, in soft whines and gentle nudges, the way I always do. Tonight, for once, I was the shepherd, steering fellow canines to safety. And for a little blonde doodle like me, that tale was the best present of all.

The End.

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