Hey Eleanor,

Just a quick paws-up from your undercover holiday hero Olaf! 🐾✨ Our four-legged squad totally nailed the Christmas Decoration Contest – think twinkling lights, festive cheer, and a touch of doggy dazzle right on our doorstep. You’re gonna love it! Keep the treats ready; we’ve earned it this year. 🎄🏆💖

Tail wags and face licks,
Olaf

Listen to the story here

In the golden slumber of early morning, before the birds begin their songs and the sun stretches its rays over the rooftops of Pawsburg, I steal away from my slumberous spot at the foot of Eleanor’s bed. The human world is quiet, save for the rhythmic breathing of my beloved caretaker, her dreams a mystery even to a seasoned sniffer like myself.

Today is a day like no other in Pawsburg – it’s the day the annual Christmas Decoration Contest is set to be judged, and the whole town is aflutter, weaving tales of tinsel and dreams hung upon doorframes and eaves.

Baxter, Whiskers, Captain, and I — we’ve forged a pact. Our humans, with hearts as woven together as the garlands on their mantelpieces, deserve the luminescent crown this yeartide contest bestows. I wag my tail to the thought; it sweeps the floor in soft arcs, an innate metronome to my rising excitement.

At the brink of dawn, we gather: Canine Couture Clothing vests wrapped snugly around us, paws hitting the cobblestone rhythmically as we arrive at Eleanor’s doorstep. Clandestine planning had led to this momentary uprising, where we, the loyal hounds of Pawsburg, aimed to deck the halls with bows and collies — and, of course, us hounds.

Weimaraner Woods gifted us pine and holly, while Bichon Boulevard’s glittering snow provided a canvas pure and begging for our artistry. Captain, with his feline precision, directed the placement of the fairy lights, silver filaments winding around the picket fence like ribbons around a Maypole.

“That’s it, Baxter, careful with those baubles,” I counsel in a Chayefskyan drawl, watching the Bulldog balance precariously on a stool, his tongue panting out in concentration. The sly smile that skirts across his jowled face tells of success before the shiny orb even nestles amidst the greenery.

Whiskers, with speed unfathomable, dashes back and forth, a blur of excitement and tinsel. His infectious zest sends my own heart thumping, a drumbeat to the rising sun, as I supervise the busy scene. Each piece of decor placed by one of us is a touch of our affection, a silent gift in tribute to the bond we share with our humans.

By the time Eleanor perceives the soft light of morning, our Carol has been sung. The house, a beacon of joy and festivity, stands proud amongst its peers. The air whispers of nutmeg and pine, the scent of victory and cheer intertwined as Eleanor steps out, her eyes widening at the magnificent sight.

“Oh, my stars!” she breathes, the sort of exclamation I’ve grown to adore. Her slender fingers cup my face, and I know we’ve made her proud, the emotion reflecting in her dewy eyes clear as day.

As judges pass and neighbors marvel, I lay my head upon her feet. Our secret safe within my heart, though my wagging tale betrays a little. I revel in the cozy chuckles and gasps of delight that Eleanor shares with our companions’ humans, knowing we’ve woven ourselves deeper into the tapestry of their lives.

We’ve not just decorated a house — we’ve strung together memories, bright and shiny, dangling from the tree of our shared existences, each as precious as the biscuits from Mrs. Paws’ Bakery, which I trust will soon find their way into our well-deserving bellies.

Yes, we’ve decked the halls with boughs of holly, as they say, but more importantly, we’ve decked our hearts with love and camaraderie, a win far grander than any judge’s decree. And as Pawsburg twinkles under the gathering eve, I return to my gingerbread abode, prepared to whisper this year’s tale of Christmas cheer to a beaming Eleanor, while I dream of squeaky rubber ducks ‘neath yon Christmas tree.

The End.