Hey Mom,

Guess what? I, Amadaus (a.k.a. Many), just discovered I’m the unsung hero of Pawsburgh. Been spreading the joy without even knowing it – turns out my tail wags more than just me; it wags hearts. Found my sparkle again thanks to a Christmas lab angel. Love in every chewed-up rope toy.

Bark soon,
Amadaus 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

So, there I was, Amadaus, the dapper gent of Pawsburgh, feeling about as low as a dachshund’s belly. Christmas Eve, and the town was lit like a firefly festival, but oh, what little light flickered in the heart of yours truly.

There’s something about Christmas that turns a dog’s thoughts inside out—got me pondering on all the butts I’ve sniffed, and all the squirrels that got away. A right melancholy mood—even the fur on my back felt too heavy; even my beloved rope toy lay there, untugged, an unromantic bit of string with tales untellable.

I trotted, listless, ‘cross the town; past Akita Alley with its shadowy promises of adventure, down towards Samoyed Square; all it offered was the echo of a happier me. Chestnut Cocker Courtyard, typically a circus of doggy delight, was empty. Figured everybody was with their humans, or cozied up at Dog’s Delicacies stuffing their snouts with whatever it is that makes tails wag with abandon. Hound’s Hotdogs? No, my stomach wasn’t in the Christmas spirit. And Woof Waffles? Waffles are square, and my mood was too circular for that kind of thing.

And just as I’m about to declare to the world that I’m invisible, that’s when he appeared—a bright, tail-wagging angel, labrador of some persuasion, with a sparkle in his eye and a bark that could melt snow.

“Amadaus,” the angel says, “you charming little minx, why the long face?”

I huffed—a subtle huff, you understand. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s a small dog thing.” Too many thoughts, not enough fire hydrants to pee on them, you know?

He laughed. Oh, this celestial creature had never known a flea’s frustration. “Want to see something fantastic?” he asks. Now curiosity, you see, that’s my weak spot.

Next thing I know, we’re reliving memories—there’s me, playing tug with my human, his laughter echoing in a memory where I thought none existed. I’m an artiste at the rope-toy! And the food, the delights I could have named but didn’t—I see I’ve made my humans’ world richer. My mystery meat? It was love, on a plate, for them, from me.

We’re flying, me and the angel, spirits in the Christmas night, dancing over Pawsburgh. I see the small worlds I’ve touched—the new rescue pup at the Fetching Feline Emporium, quivering, but for the blanket I gave up; the old retriever at Pet Partners petting her tail less lonely, because I sat and listened; and the paws I’ve patched up at Woof and Whisker Wellness Center—my playmates, bold and brave, in health and sickness.

I see my own pawprints around their hearts, shaping moments, brightening the grey, and goodness, I’ve been a foolish pup. Had the whole of Pawsburgh whispering my legends, when all the while, I’m whispering theirs.

“So, Amadaus,” the angel lab says, “what do you think?”

You ever had the feeling your tail’s wagging you? “I guess it’s quite a life,” I admit, bleary-eyed if dogs did cry—which we don’t, it’s just… allergies.

“You’re more than just whispers and shadows, my friend.” The angel nuzzles me. “You’re a story, a wonderful bark, lived well, loved much.”

And with the latest sniff of dawn, I’m back in my spot, by the Christmas tree, my family’s joyful noise rustling me awake. An old rope toy is in my paws and, I’ll tell you, I’ve never seen such a beautiful hunk of string in all my years. I catch a glimpse of myself in a bauble—a guardian angel’s belly laugh in my ear—no, maybe just an echo; I’m not saying which.

Pawsburgh awaits, and so does every day beyond—I’m Amadaus, and it’s a wonderful bark indeed.

The End.

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