Yo Mom,

Just wrapped up playing the Spencerville Christmas Shepherd – guided a lost crew of critters back to town through a blizzard on Christmas Eve! I was like a holiday hero, all dapper and dependable. Town’s buzzing with cheers for yours truly – Cassius “The North Star” Cash. Sweet dreams are made of these, right?

Nighty-night,
Cassius “The Capers” Cash

Listen to the story here

Ah, the frosty season had romped into Spencerville, shaking its snowflake-coated coat all over our tail-wagger’s paradise. Now, picture this: it’s me, Cassius “The Capers” Cash, about to regale you with a tale that’ll have you wagging faster than a puppy at dinnertime.

So there I was, my snoot full of the scents of winter—delicious wafts from Doggy Delight, the tinseled trees of Greyhound Grove glittering like a disco ball gone haywire. But you see, my four-legged compatriots, ’twas not your average bone-chilling night. Nay, it was Christmas Eve, and as the old saying goes, ’tis the season to be jolly, or in my case, to be a hero.

Every year, in good ol’ Spencerville, a shepherd of sorts is chosen, a token of affection to our legendary Christmas Shepherd, and folks, you’re barking at this year’s pick. A Boxer, yours truly, chosen for a night of guidance and kindness incarnate. Now, if only there was someone to guide, I thought, chomping on my squeaky chicken, a pre-game ritual.

Lo and behold, as I strutted down to Corgi Castle, the flurries whispered rumors of travelers gone astray. Dogs, cats, maybe a rogue hamster or two – a whole sleigh’s worth lost in Lower Dalmatian Desert! The jig was up! It was time for Cassius Cash to answer the howl of duty.

With a boxer’s bravado, I slid past Best in Show Photography, their cameras flashing like stars. “Smile for the paw-parazzi,” I quipped to the wind, though truth be told, it was too cold for cheese.

Then, like destiny had barked my name, they appeared: a motley crew of shivering fur-babies, their eyes as wide as my Sunday morning kibble bowl. Leading the pack, a German Shepherd with a look of desperation; traveling on Christmas without a map? That’s ruff, even for a dog with a compass in their nose.

“Oi, mates!” I barked, my voice tingling with the Mel Brooksian zing. “You lot look more turned around than a cat chasing its tail in a mirror maze!”

They wagged and whimpered, a chorus of relief. I puffed out my chest, channeling the Christmas Shepherd from doggie lore. “Fear not! For on this snowy eve, Cassius Cash is your North Star!”

We embarked on a trek back to civilization, me leading the way like the best game of follow-the-leader you ever saw. The Shepherd, his tail flicking in appreciation, knew he’d stumbled upon the tail… I mean, tale of a lifetime.

Every step was a step towards warmth, every snowy tumbling bark was laughter in the vast white blanket that coated our town. And as we approached Pup-Peroni, the scents of holiday feasts reached our noses, and I tell ya, even celery would’ve smelled divine at that moment.

“Here we are, dear travelers,” I announced, dramatic as a doggy in a soap opera. “Spencerville, the beacon of warmth for chilled bones and weary paws!”

We paraded through the streets, tails held high, and right there in the center of town, a sight that could thaw even the frostiest of whiskers. A feast, a festival, a furry jamboree, set up by our very own folks! Doggy Delight, Pup-Peroni, Whiskers and Wings – all the culinary champions dishing out treats that had us drooling bucketfuls.

And so, as the clock struck the magical hour, we, the lost and found, were reunited in the glow of holiday cheer, paw in paw, with our Spencerville family.

I, Cassius Cash, the Christmas Boxer Shepherd, had led the wanderers home. And as the snow settled like a blanket over the sleep of the just, I knew, deep down in my doggie soul, that somewhere out there, the spirit of the Christmas Shepherd was winking at me, or maybe it was just Buster winking in his sleep—either way, ’twas a job well done.

Goodnight, Spencerville, and to all a good howl!

The End.