Hey there human! 🌟 Just a casual Christmas Eve turning into an epic tale where I, London, Buff Shorkie extraordinaire, accidentally licked a nutcracker toy into a prince and got whisked into a canine fairyland.🐾 Danced under a sky of bones, saved royalty, and woke up like it was all a dream. Or was it? 😉 Merry Christmas – catch ya on the flip side of adventure! 🎄✨ – The Pawsburgh Explorer 🐕💨

Listen to the story here

The pale moon had just tipped its hat to the inky blue curtain of night when I found myself on the cobblestone catwalk of Pearl Papillon Promenade. Pawsburgh was aglow with twinkling fairy lights, and the air was sweet with the scent of adventure. But it wasn’t any old evening—no, tonight was Christmas Eve, and the world was spun with extra magic.

Enter moi, London, the Buff Shorkie with a wanderlust big enough to fill the whole town. I strutted confidently, my sunny fur shimmering under the celestial glow, as enchanted poodles paraded and playful pugs pirouetted past the iced-over Emerald Eskimo Estuary.

“London, darling!” The call came from Baroness Biscuit, the bougie bulldog who ran Tail-Twitching Treats. Her jowls jiggled like jolly gelatin as she barked out. “Fancy a frosted fabulousness on this festive night?”

“Only if it’s peanut butter and not garnished with orange peels,” I replied with a wink that could charm the collar off a canine. We exchanged a quick, conspiratorial giggle, and I trotted on, my destination as mysterious to me as the contents of that weird-smelling trash can on Maple Street.

As I sauntered over Briard Bridge, a glimmer caught my eye. What’s that? A tiny wooden toy—a nutcracker shaped like a Shorkie with the most dashing button eyes—sat squarely in my path. I sniffed, my tail wagged, and with a cheeky “Why not?” I gave it a lick.

“BLECH!” The taste of varnish was worse than the tangiest citrus. I was about to abandon the nutty soldier when the clock struck midnight and, believe it or not, the toy twirled into a whirlwind and POOF! Transformed into a Shorkie prince, with a crown and everything. If my jaw could’ve hit the ground without me tripping, I swear it would’ve.

“Holy Hound!” I yelped, taken aback. “What in the doggone-”

“Fair London,” the prince woofed with royal gusto. “I am Canine Casimir, and thou hath freed me from an ancient curse.”

“Ugh, what is it with curses on Christmas? Can’t a girl catch a break?” I sighed dramatically, giving my best ‘Tina Fey doing an eye-roll’ expression. “Alright, Prince. Lead the way to this so-called magical world!”

With a gallant bow, Prince Casimir offered his paw. We zipped past the slumbering storefronts of The Woofy Bakery and The Groom Room, pausing only long enough to admire a beautifully painted portrait of yours truly at The Furry Friends Art Gallery. (Come on, I had to check; I’ve got a reputation to maintain!)

The promenade fell away, and we plunged paw-first into a snow-globe universe, where Pawsburgh transformed into an even more spellbinding spectacle. Think bigger. Think extra. Think dogs in tutus!

Canine Casimir and I danced beneath a constellation of bones, leapt over rivers of ribbon, and weaved through a forest of candy canes that smelled distinctly of bacon. I mean, Diet be darned on Christmas Eve, right?

“Behold, the Land of the Nutcracker Pup,” the Shorkie prince announced as we reached a palace shaped like a giant dog bed. I was about to comment on the avant-garde architecture when a chorus of barks rose in fanfare.

He led me through halls decked with holly (and chew toys, très chic) to the throne room, where an assembly of toy-dog-turned-royalty awaited.

“So, I helped you,” I stated, my eyes twinkling with curiosity. “My Christmas quest is complete!”

“Indeed,” nodded Canine Casimir. “Yet the dawn draws nigh, and thou must return.”

With a heavy heart but with grace to spare, I turned to leave the fairy-tale. I meant to say something wise and poignant, but what came out was, “Don’t slobber on the furniture, Casimir. It’s a regal pain to clean.”

And just like that, I awoke with a jolt back on chilly Briard Bridge, the wooden nutcracker Shorkie by my side. I pawed it affectionately. “You and me, pal. We’ve had quite the night.”

Ever the storyteller, I scooped up my wooden comrade, plotting the grand tail I’d spin for Whiskers and Duke. My paws danced me home to my slumbering human, a furry heart full of yuletide magic and a taste for peanut butter pastries rather than varnish.

With one final stretch, I settled at the foot of the bed, whispering, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night,” before dreams of Pawsburgh’s Nutcracker realm whisked me away once again.

The End.