Hey family, it’s Tango here—the little drummer pup of Pawsburg! Just gave the performance of my life at Doggie Diner with nothing but a food bowl and a carrot. The town’s tails haven’t stopped wagging! 🥁🐾 Think I started a new holiday tradition. More tails on this tale when I see you. Sniffs and licks, Tango Whitey 🎶🐕✨

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And let me tell you, if Pawsburg had a soundtrack, it’d be a jazzy number that went a little like, “Bark-da-bark-bark, SQUEAK! — Oh hey, there’s my squirrel!”

Anyway, this story? It’s like, my holiday diary, only it’s about this one time when I went from Tango to drummer boy… err, pup. Picture this: I was trotting down Dachshund Dale, my tail a-wagging to the beat of Pawsburg’s heart—which, for your information, beats in a perfect 4/4 rhythm. Mainly because the magic veterinarian said so, and she has a stethoscope that sparkles, so who’s to argue?

I had this idea, like a lightbulb moment, except more like a Christmas tree all lit up. I wanted to give back to Pawsburg, you know? Sure, I don’t have pouches of golden kibble, frankincense, or myrrh (whatever that is—probably not good to chew on), but I had the beat, the paws and, as luck would have it, an empty food bowl that made the perfect drum when you hit it with a carrot.

Ah, yes, my crunchstick, the noble carrot. I plucked it from my stocking—it was the season of woofs and carrots, after all—and I set forth to the center of town, my bowl under one paw and my carrot-stick in my mouth. Trust me, it was totally cool and not dorky at all.

Billie Jo and Sweetheart were already waiting for me by Hound’s Hotdogs, which honestly? Smelled so good it was distracting. I had to explain my plan between drools.

“Guys, I’m gonna play for the whole town,” I barked, which came out more like “Gubba pway foh da hown tawn,” because carrot talk, it’s a thing.

“The whole town, Tango?” Sweetheart asked, head tilted so adorably you’d think she invented the look.

Billie Jo just nodded, floppy ears bouncing. “Sounds like a howling good show.”

So there I was, in front of Doggie Diner—the irony, right?—where every pup and their mother gathered for the evening feast. It was like the red carpet of Pawsburg, and I was about to hit my drum solo.

Dogs of all sizes gathered ’round, and the air was so chilly, you could see our breaths mingling in a cloud of pre-fame excitement. Or maybe everyone was just cold.

Anyway, I banged on that food bowl with my carrot, and wow, the sound! It was like… bouncy. Infectious. Like how you feel when the human says “walk” and you know it’s not a drill.

Every woof and wag was in sync, and puppies pranced and old-timers tapped their paws. It wasn’t just a beat, it was THE beat, you know? The heart of Pawsburg coming together. And me, Tango Whitey, just a Jack Russell with a squeaky squirrel toy, I was the drumming glue.

I think everyone forgot about the treats and toys for a bit—yeah, even the banana-haters—because we were tangled in the magic of that moment, a symphony of tail-wags and barks.

Pawsburg had its own little drummer pup. And, okay, no one actually said “Give that dog a bone,” but I think the tail wags spoke volumes.

What can I say? Sometimes the simplest rhythms make for the greatest tail-wagging escapades. And who knew? Maybe next year carrots will totally be the new jingle bells. A pup can dream, right?

The End.

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