Hey fur-friend,

Just a quick pawdate: I turned detective, uncovered Old Nick’s missing Christmas spirit, and rallied the pack for a howliday revival. Think ‘Christmas Carol’ with more tails. Now, Pawsburgh’s glowing with cheer, and it’s all because we believed. Remember, every pup has the power to jingle bells and hearts.

Tail wags and festive sniffs,
Luna 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Strange things happen in Pawsburgh when the Yuletide rolls around, let me tell you. It’s a time when the very fabric of doggy reality turns frayed and sparkling, a time when tales wag their endings into new beginnings. So here I am, Luna, the Labrador with more cheer in one bark than most have in their entire howl, on a peculiar mission between the snowflake-kissed lanes of our secret town.

Cocker Courtyard is bustling with more energy than a pack of puppies on their first spring day. The Big Day is nearing, and every four-legged citizen, from the dozy Danes to the perky Pomeranians, is wearing that Christmassy glow, like they’ve all swallowed stars for breakfast.

Toby’s nose is twitching for mysteries among the pine-scented stalls, that hound’s got a sniff sharper than a tack and twice as quick to point out the good stuff. Meanwhile, Sasha’s poise doesn’t slip even one hair out of place; she wears dignity like a second coat. “Celebrations are no excuse for chaos,” she’d say, a scoff hidden somewhere in her throat.

Bark-n-Bite Bistro’s got a queue winding longer than the leash of destiny, but I’ve got no time for noshing. My paws are set on more pressing matters. You see, in my mouth is a piece of fabric, a fragment from the most treasured item left behind by a mysterious visitor to our little Potterville—a Santa suit, rich as midnight velvet and lost amidst romps and frolics.

My detective cap is imaginary but don’t doubt its effectiveness. I pad over to The Tail Wagger’s Tailor, the one place with threads that gossip more than we do. “Seen this?” I gesture with a wag because my mouth’s full, obviously.

Mabel, the Maltese behind the counter, tilts her head. “Ah, the holiday spirit unraveled. Belongs to Old Nick, the Saint Bernard. He lost more than his suit; he says he misplaced his Christmas mojo, if you can believe that.”

You might think that’s a problem easily solved with a chew toy or a scratch behind the ears, but Old Nick’s a dog of traditions. I find him moping under the weeping willows at Eskimo Estuary, on the outskirts where the frost dances like whimsical fairies.

Nick’s brow furrows like he’s about to speak truths no dog’s dared to bark. “Luna, I’m no Santa this Christmas. Pawsburgh relies on this chunky, jolly icon, but I’m just… not feeling it. It’s not just the suit, it’s the spirit.”

Rescuing Christmas is not on the usual doggy agenda, but hey, that’s a challenge calling my name. Toby, Sasha, and I – an unlikely trio spun together by happenstance and Santa suits – we’re whipping this town into a howling holiday frenzy, like the wind through winter trees.

The Shepherd’s Shawarma serves as our planning grounds, with plates being licked cleaner than a fresh story slate. Tails are brainstorming, paws are plotting. A Santa suit is more than red fabric; it’s an emblem of belief—a canine creed that tells of warm hearths and togetherness.

Power is in belief, isn’t it? Power and chewy chicken bones. So I stand proud, a golden flag against the snowy backdrop. “Nick, you’re Santa because you believe you’re Santa. And we’ll make Pawsburgh believe it too.” I plan a shindig at Setter’s Steakhouse, scheme a parade through Pomeranian Park, and by dog, we’re filling that suit with the only thing that matters: pure, doggone love.

That’s how, my dear friend, I became the unseen thread pulling the Christmas spirit through the needle’s eye. And when Santa Nick took flight on the magic of Pawsburgh’s belief, the sparkle in my eyes outshone the baubles on the trees. This town, this life—it’s a tail-wagging wonder, one that leaps straight into your heart and sets up shop. Luna, the Labrador, signing out. Keep chasing the tinsel, till next we bark.

The End.

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