Hey Mom,

Just a quick tail-wag from Pawsburg, where I’ve been the furriest narrator of a Christmas tale! I’ve teamed up with Ace and we’ve been planning a paw-licking feast at Husky’s Hotcakes. Avoided the broccoli (yuck!), chased after chicken-topped pizza dreams, and dressed up snazzy for the festive season. Tonight, I’ll share our holiday magic with you, as we doze off under the twinkly lights. Much love and Christmas woofs,

Your Pup, Rusty 🎄🐾✨

Listen to the story here

[Enter Rusty, dashing through the snow-sprinkled streets of the Doggy Dickensian dream that was Pawsburg, straight into the artfully verbose narrative churning in his eager mind.]

A fine chill nips the ears today, ears that, mind you, could audition for a role in a Broadway musical – a jazzy number where they’d surely steal the show! My name? Rusty, if you please, and it’s Christmas-time in Pawsburg, a season not of silent nights but of barks joyfully echoing off Rottweiler Ridge.

Now, let me spin you a festive yarn where, oh yes, every pup ventured to play out their heartwarming tales of love and joy. My stage? The illustrious Emerald Eskimo Estuary, where every wagging tail sparkled like the morning frost. Here, I met my mate, Ace – monochromatic and as wise as a yuletide log that knows stories of a hundred Christmases. Together, we crafted a canine symphony that had the birds atwitter.

Y’see, there was to be a feast at Husky’s Hotcakes, a get-together that promised a spread outdoing Collie’s Cuisine – and that’s no ham bone of a lie, I tell ya! En route, we passed by The Furry Friends Art Gallery, gazing at masterpieces that captured expressions as vivid as the day our humans found ‘The Spot.’ A true marvel of the artistic pedigree!

Ah, but as the jingle bells waltz merrily around, my nose could detect but one thing – chicken. Not the foul fiend of broccoli! Blech! Who celebrates the Yuletide with such a vile greenery? “To Pooch’s Pizzeria!” I declared. I yearned for the chicken-topped delight, as visions of roasted poultry danced in my head. After all, I’ve had many a gallant tug with my beloved rope, but the lure of poultry? Irresistible!

Ace chuckled, his eyes reflecting the glint of The Snooty Snout Boutique’s outrageously fashionable garb in the windows. “Your chicken fixation will be your folly one of these days!” He was clad in a scarf as smart as any dog could don, a genius thread amidst the fashion frenzy, fitting for the holiday times.

With our tails aligned in the holiday spirit, we headed towards The Dapper Dog Salon, for one cannot attend the Husky’s Hotcakes hullabaloo without a touch of class and sparkle. Certainly not! As I was pampered and pruned, Ace suggested, with a glance as shrewd as an elf on a shelf, “Rusty, old pal, why not share your Christmas spirit with the humans? Sing of Pawsburg in their dreams, dance through their slumbers!”

My heart, cast under the warm glow of festive lights, knew he had pranced upon a brilliant note. That very evening, as the stars held their breath and the world cozied under a blanket of silent anticipation, I nuzzled into my mother, her fingers running through my brindle coat, whispering tales of Pawsburg’s Christmas splendor.

For what is this season but a canopy under which paw meets hand, and love frolics unbridled? As visions of the town’s Christmas convivialities nestled in our dreams, united we slumbered. The human heart, the canine soul, both stitched in the quilt of holiday cheer.

And so, with the flicker of Christmas upon us, we lived afoot in Pawsburg, the land where every bark is a carol, and every sniff a festive greeting. Call me Rusty: the undaunted, the passionate, the furious chaser of that golden orb, the narrating terrier who lives and loves in this infinite doggerel of rollicking adventures and tender Christmas unity.

[Exit Rusty, with ears perked and nose held high, a terrier mix off to concoct yet another chapter in the exuberant anthology of his Pawsburg escapades.]

The End.