Hey Mom,

Just gotta tell you, Pawsburg’s been like a fairy tale! Got whisked away by a magical toy soldier on Christmas Eve, became an honored guest in a Doggie Kingdom of Sweets—no nibbling but lots of dancing and laugher. Butch and I, we’ve been on quite the adventure, and I’ve wriggled my wigglebutt through every enchanting moment. More deets when I see you!

Kisses and Fluffy Cuddles,
Sammie 🐾✨🎄

Listen to the story here

I reckon it’s proper fair to say life has had its twists and turns, much like the winding Whippet Way where I find myself this crisp eve. As that old phenom Mr. Twain might spin a yarn, I’m here to tangle a tale or two about the doin’s in Pawsburg – and mind you, it’s no ordinary hamlet. This story I’m about to unfold got its sparkle one Christmas Eve when somethin’ magical whisked through the air, somethin’ that stood my whiskers on end and set my paws to patterin’.

Now, as you know, it’s Sammie speakin’, your friend of the warm, fawn coat and eyes that have seen a thing or two. I was strollin’ past Fetch! Toys and Treats, grievin’ over that chicken smell I couldn’t indulge on account of fasting for the holiday feast. Butch was at my heels, ears perked for trouble or snacks – whichever came first.

Well, we trudged down Lhasa Lane toward Tail-Twitching Treats when a curious sight stopped us mid-stride. There stood a toy soldier, all red and gold and lookin’ proud as if he were guarding the Queen’s very own biscuits. And would you believe it, each time I gazed upon his little painted face, I saw somethin’ of myself there.

Presently, a jitterin’ sort of magic seized that there figure. Before my disbelievin’ eyes, he grew and sprouted until a princely figure stood afore me, a dapper dog if ever there was one. A blink or two to confirm I ain’t dreamin’, and then he bowed.

“Ma’am, Sammie, I am Max,” spoke he, with such gallantry you’d think he sprung from a page in one of Mr. Twain’s very own books, “’tis the night for magic, and I’m here to guide you to a spectacle most unimaginable.”

I been around the dog park enough times to know a thing or two ’bout unexpected happenings, but this slice of marvel baked my noodle. Nevertheless, being a lady of adventure at heart, I accepted the offer, Butch tail-waggin’ close behind as if he’d anticipated this peculiar turn all along.

Max, stridin’ with a grace that would put Laila the greyhound to shame, escorted us to Pointer Pier, where — I kid you not — a shimmerin’ boat awaited. With the grace of a well-aged pup, I boarded, and we set sail into the moonlit waters.

The eve’s air filled with scents more enchanting than the tastiest morsels at Canine Kabobs, and in the silvery gleam, I spied a palace so grand, it could’ve been spun from starlight. Dancin’ paws twirled and leapt so fine they’d make your heart thump in double-time.

This, I gathered, was a sort of Doggie Kingdom of Sweets, and I, a guest of honor. From Pawfect Pastries to The Woofy Bakery, delights rolled out like carpet. Each shop sparklin’ with its own tailored temptations to drive any respectable snout wild.

Yet, not a bite passed my lips. No, instead, I reveled in the camaraderie, the dance, the warmth of kindred spirits gathered in joyous revelry. Butch, bless his mischievous soul, found his own jollity, his laughter a melody to my maternal ears.

As dawn crested, casting its first blush upon the world of Pawsburg, Max tipped his hat, a gentleman to the end. “The time has come to return,” he declared. And just like that, we were back on Whippet Way; the soldier, once more a toy, stiff and silent beside the shops now closed for the day.

I looked to Butch, and he to me, an unspoken pact formed between us. This here wasn’t somethin’ to be explained, no sir, but a memory to be cherished as dearly as my ragged stuffie with the lopsided grin.

And when Papa’s feet hit the floorboards come morning, I got tales to whisper and secrets to share, and my heart hums with the echo of a Christmas Eve that turned out to be nothing less than a dance through a spellbindin’ tale.

The End.