Hey Mom,

Short ‘tail’ from Spencerville—turned holiday host for a lost spaniel and had an impromptu paw-ty with the gang. Laughs, stories, and wag-worthy companionship unfolded. It’s like I always say, ‘the best treats are the friends we meet.’ Paws crossed you’re having a cozy one too!

Hugs and tail wags,
Wrigley Roo 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

The first snow was a quiet affair in Spencerville—flakes just courteous enough to twirl a bit before they settled on the roads and rooftops. Most of the town was cozied away in snug cottages, all except for me, Wrigley, standing solo on my porch, Kong toy forgotten beside the welcome mat. With a palpable air of serenity, the Holiday Hound holidays were upon us.

See, the thing is, the holidays have a different jingle in your step, especially when your steps are four and highly accustomed to the sweet, earthy scents of Choco Chihuahua Castle’s expansive grounds. Trickling through my thoughts were images of Pupperoni Pizza, where maybe I’d sniff out a festive feast later, followed by a lackluster attempt to ignore the green beans.

An unexpected rustle came from the bushes beside my countryside cottage—it wasn’t the usual friendly patter of one of my buddies like trusty Camden or rambunctious Maddie—it was something… or someone new. I trotted over, ears pricked to maximum reception, tail sending Morse code messages of cautious curiosity.

Out popped a spaniel, her ears flopping with an unstudied elegance, a stranger adorned with a holly-patterned collar. “Ah, hello!” her bark chimed with a musical lilt. “Lost my way looking for Beagle Beach and, my stars, it’s chillier than I thought!”

I grinned, my goofy smile earning its reputation. “Name’s Wrigley. You’re not far off; just past the Golden Gate Gardens, billow right through those gates and there you have it, Beagle Beach. But you’re freezin’ your whiskers off. Step in for a spell; I’ve got a warm fire and no shortage of stories.”

Inside, the spaniel, introducing herself as Holly—I know, too on-the-nose for a Holiday tale, right?—perched with elegance upon my favorite armchair, as I regaled her with the exquisite adventures that defined life in Spencerville.

We swapped tails—I mean, tales—of toys conquered and squeakers extracted, her stories edged with the wisdom gleaned from romps in places I’d only sniffed about in daydreams. I tossed in anecdotal spices about my gang, punctuated by the camaraderie that peppered our everyday romps.

The hours unwound with the ease of a leash on a long walk, and as the fire hummed its approval, other pals began to pad in. Maddie with her boundless enthusiasm; Chenice wrapped in wisdom like a snood; and Camden, the steadfast. Laughter unfurled, bouncing like a ball during a frenetic game of fetch.

“You know,” Holly mused, the flicker of the flames dancing in her eyes, “I thought I’d find myself at Beagle Beach for the festivities, but I think I’ve stumbled onto something even grander.”

I wagged, my heart swelling like a prize marrowbone. We might’ve been an odd pack of dogs, our breeds as mixed as a midnight snack raided from Paws On The Grill’s dumpster, but that’s the secret seasoning of Spencerville—you never dine alone, not literally nor figuratively.

As the evening curled up and napped like a contented pup, I understood it wasn’t a typical holiday fable. It was the story of the unexpected friendships that perch on your windowsill, the tail-wagging romances kindled without notice, and the kindness that warms you like a well-worn sweater.

With a contented sigh, I snuggled into my bed, my pals scattered about the cottage—all of us stitched together in the grand quilt of companionship. The perfect Spencerville seasonal snapshot, the Holiday Hound sort of tale. And with eyes closing, I felt it deep in my bones: holidays are where the hearth is, and hearts, too.

The End.