Hey Martha,

Just saved Christmas by lighting the way through fog as Faux-dolph for Pawsburgh’s festive sleigh ride. Rudolph’s got nothing on this Frenchie’s ingenuity. Adventure’s my middle name, but today, hero fits just fine. Legendary day, catch you on the porch for details!

Tail wags and victory barks,
Zip 🐾

Listen to the story here

Ever tried to navigate life with ears that hear frequencies even bats would envy? Mornings in Pawsburgh are a peculiar blend of serene and bustling, and here I am, Zip, the Frenchie, pondering the day’s adventures from my porch perch. Martha says I contemplate the universe with my big, expressive eyes. I say I’m just sizing up the competition.

Now, here’s the thing: I don’t do “ordinary.” Ordinary is for Chihuahuas who yap at leaves. Me? I’ve got a date with destiny — or at least with Harrier Harbor, because I’ve heard through the K9 grapevine that they’re holding the annual Foggy Christmas Fest. And, legend has it, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Retriever will unveil his glowing snout. It’s a spectacle I wouldn’t miss for all the squeaky balls in the world.

So off I trot, my stubby legs betraying none of my usual inner bravado. Past Pet Partners Pet Supplies where the scent of new collars pulled me like a magnet. No time today, but perhaps tomorrow. Add it to the Explore List, Zip!

My belly rumbles a reminder — food. Can any dog really begin an adventure on an empty stomach? Swing by Pooch’s Pizzeria or Dog’s Delicacies? Nope, I’m headed straight for the chicken and rice at Whippet Wraps. Nothing quite complements a tactical Adventure Plan like Martha’s recipe. I slide in, shoot the crowd my notorious half-grin, and down goes the meal with a satisfied smack of the lips. A life lived in fear is a life half-eaten, is what I always say. Or just made it up now… details.

Now, here’s where the tale takes a turn. You see, Rudolph the Retriever has gone missing, and the fog, thick as peanut butter (don’t get me started on peanut butter), blankets Harrier Harbor. There’s a collective droop in tails, a sense of unease among my fellow four-leggers. The star of the show’s nose isn’t here to cut through the fog. Disaster looms like a vacuum cleaner at naptime.

“Gather ’round,” I bark, channeling Martha’s storytelling flair. “‘Cause ol’ Zip’s got a plan!”

I dash to The Howling Husky Hardware Store, my ideas twirling like leaves in the wind. With the aid of a discarded headlamp and some burlap sacks, I fashion a glowing makeshift snout. MacGyver’s got nothing on me, folks.

I stand at the harbor’s edge, headlamp snout aglow, casting a brave light against the enveloping mist. “This way!” I yelp. The lineup of waiting sleighs, with Beagles and Boxers at the ready, now have a beacon in the void. I may be a French Bulldog, but tonight, I embody the spirit of the most famous Retriever.

As we guide the sleighs, filled with toys and treats for all of Pawsburgh, the crowd’s cheer is like wind beneath my wings — if I had wings. Yet, as we reach Ruby Rottweiler Ridge, a shadow wags into view. Rudolph, with a sneeze and a snort, emerges from the foggy depths.

“You saved Christmas, Zip!” he barks, his nose blinking like a lighthouse with a sinus issue.

Back on the porch, legends already spun among the barking voices of Pawsburgh, I revel in my newfound fame, a grin plastered below my bat-like ears.

“You won’t believe my day,” I pant to Martha as we curl up by the fire, the scent of adventure lingering like the finest perfume. Rudolph, eat your heart out. There’s a new canine in town, and his name is Zip.

The End.