Hey Mom,

Guess who’s the tail-wagging lead in Spencerville’s Christmas show? That’s right, me! 🌟 Leading lady Molly’s on a snowy stage romancing, harmonizing, and stealing hearts. From sniff greetings to curtain calls, I’m bringing holiday cheer on all fours. Brb, gotta soak up the applause and maybe some gravy too.

Licks & Love,
Molly 🐾✨🎄

Listen to the story here

Another morning in Spencerville, another stretch, another yawn, another day for an adventure – or so I thought, gazing out at the constellation of flakes descending from a gray, overcast sky. A blanket of snow had softened the edges of our little mountain town, turning it into a vision from a glass globe, shaken vigorously by a giant’s hand. Winter was here, and with it, an unmistakable buzz of festivity in the chilly air.

Today wasn’t to be a day of lounging in sunny spots or chasing those enigmatic creatures of habit, my tennis balls. No, today was to be a day steeped in the aroma of pine and the warmth of companionship. Spencerville was awash in holiday spirit, you see, and rumor had it (thanks to the ever-chatty Pomeranians at Pet Partners Pet Supplies) that a Christmas show was in the works. An enterprise filled with tinsel and tunes, and, with a stroke of luck, a role for yours truly.

I trotted down Main Street with purpose, my paws leaving a trail of prints behind me like postscripts in a hurriedly penned letter. The shops adorned in their festive finery appeared like gingerbread houses – The Barkery’s window displaying an array of mince pies and stollen, surely with carob and sweet potato for the enlightened canine palate. Never one to digress on matters of the stomach, this day called for a higher pursuit. The theater’s call was stronger than the aroma of freshly baked dog biscuits, and, by Jove, I intended to answer.

The Bullmastiff Boardwalk was abuzz with activity. Dogs of all shapes and sizes, breeds and attitudes, milled about the improvised stage that had sprung up overnight like mushrooms after a rain. White Westie Woods, our backdrop, stood proud and tall, an arboreal audience of one, dusted in white.

I cleared my throat (a little grunt really, but it gets the message across) as I approached the throng. “Friends, Spencervillains, four-legged thespians, lend me your ears,” I proclaimed, or rather, barked with fervor. “Molly, thespian extraordinaire, at your service!”

There was Woody, panting a welcome, his golden coat practically luminous against the snow. Tail wags were exchanged, along with sniffs of greeting – the usual decorum reserved for such affectionate reunions. Shiloh was there too, majestic and calm as always. The Bernese’s eyes were agleam like chestnuts in the fire’s light, his coat looking like it had caught all the stars from the sky.

“You think we’ve got a part for a Pitbull with a penchant for the dramatic?” I asked, with a hint of jest.

“Only if she’s willing to learn a tune or two,” Woody joked, his bark resonant and mirthful.

The director, an exceptionally stern-looking bulldog sporting a monocle, scrutinized me from head to paw – the full assessment. “Molly, is it? Well, we’re in need of a leading lady to inspire a dash of romance and a smidgen of holiday cheer. Think you’re up to the task?”

A lead role? My heart raced with excitement, the kind usually reserved for a fat squirrel darting up a tree. “Sir, I’ve been rehearsing for this moment all my life,” I declared with all the grace of a canine primed for a Christmas miracle.

In the coming days, rehearsals ensued with much ado. I learned my lines, a graceful promenade, a howl harmonized with holiday melodies. I was to be the very essence of White Christmas Whiskers, the heart and soul of the show. And through the camaraderie, the stumbles and the triumphs, old friendships were indeed kindled, and within the staged romance, a hint of real affection blossomed between Woody and yours truly.

The night of the performance was one of magic – a Spencerville specialty. Snowflakes danced like silver moths fluttering around a lamp as our voices rose in joyous chorus, a celebration of a year’s companionship and the promise of more. As the final note trembled in the wintry air, the applause of paws thundered, and tails wagged in the rhythmic poetry of pure delight.

There, amidst the curtain calls and the falling snow, surrounded by old friends and new, basking in the glow of the spotlight and the warmth of the season, I, Molly, knew this was but a single chapter in the book of infinite days, each penned with love in the dog-eared pages of my Spencerville life.

The End.

Share This Story: