Hey human, it’s Koda here (yes, your wise Basset buddy). Just a paws-up from my world: I’ve been playing fairy god-dog in Pawsburgh, steering the ship (our family) towards the true north of this festive season—generosity and wagging tails over possessions. Seems my nudging warmed our hearts just right. P.S. I’ve embraced my inner party animal at the charity pasta feast, but don’t worry, I left the broccoli for you. 🐾✨ – Sherlock Bones (a.k.a. Koda)

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In Pawsburgh, where the lampposts glimmered with a soft glow only a canine’s eye could fully appreciate, I, Koda the Basset Hound, began my day with the anticipation of mischief. My owners, you see, were a curious pair; they flickered between the warm-hearted and the frugal like a finicky flame. It was the season of giving, an oddly human spectacle of wrapping, ribbons, and rarities, and my humans, as I’ve heard it said, needed a nudge from old Ebenezer’s tale.

Before sunrise, I pattered out of the familiar human abode and down the cobblestone streets towards Onyx Otterhound Oasis. You might not understand the simplicity of a dog’s joy at being left to his own devices in a town with fire hydrants that never complained and mailmen who bore no grudges. But it’s there, I assure you.

As I trotted past Lhasa Lane, a reluctance slowed my steps. My humans were a caring sort, don’t get me wrong, but there was room in their hearts yet unexplored, a space that awaited to be filled not with possessions but with well, you know, the endless love from a dog—or perhaps some generosity to their fellow two-legged sorts.

My mates were already gathered at Pyrenean Peak when I crested the rise. Their wagging tails cast short, eager shadows in the morning light.

“Koda, ever considered a career in interior design?” my friend Tucker, an incredulous Dalmatian, barked as he eyed me. “Your coat’s got more color than the holiday sweaters at The Doggy Depot.”

I let out a bay-like howl that echoed down to the Pawprint Pizzeria below. My laughter, however, soon turned to thoughts of my owners.

“Ever think humans… miss the bone entirely with this holiday spirit thing?” I mused aloud, and a chorus of sympathetic whines met my question.

It was the afternoon before I made my way back, and the spirited couple was engaged in the semi-annual debate of to spend or not to spend. I lay my head on my man’s lap, the very picture of faithfulness. A Scrooge’s loyal friend, I have been called, but oh how I wanted to usher him from the miser’s den to the streets where he could taste the joy of giving.

“Spend less on me this year,” the wife was saying, draped in a blanket studded with poinsettias. “Let’s help those who have little to share in the warmth of the season.”

“The sentiment’s a lovely one…” my human trailed off, flipping through a catalog with an expansive array of electronic devices he certainly didn’t need.

With a huff, I nudged the catalog onto the floor, squatting a tad heavy on its glossy pages. “Koda!” he scolded, but in his eyes, I caught a glimpse—a twinkle of understanding.

The change came slowly. A canceled order here, a thoughtful donation there. Pawsburgh, it seemed, had begun to weave its good will into my owners’ souls.

One crisp evening, as Christmas drew near, we found ourselves at Poodle’s Pasta—a fundraiser for the less fortunate dogs of Pawsburgh. My humans smiled, their hearts taking on new weight, real substance.

And me? I lapped up the Spaniel Spaghetti with glee beneath our table. Even rejected some broccoli that happened to find its way to my domain. As for the bacon, well, that was a given. It seemed my humans’ transformation was rather like my own leaps for the frisbee in Murphy’s Meadow—joyous, unpredictable, and filled with the promise of many happy returns.

The End.

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