Hey there, human!

Just had to share the tail of my day. Played fetch at Jade Jack Russell Junction, ate my weight in gourmet bagels at Beagle Bagels, and even picked out some hilarious specs for Max at the Secret Santa. I’m basically the ringleader of canine Christmas cheer here in Pawsburgh! Stay tuned for more Yuletide tails.

Wags and woofs,
Bailey 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

In the curious township of Pawsburgh, where the footsteps of humankind never did tread and the canines conversed in the Queen’s own English, there lived I, Bailey, a Golden Doodle of such resplendent coat and exuberance that even the stars seemed dim by comparison. Now, dear reader, you must grace your imagination with the quaint cobbles and charming facades of Pawsburgh, a place as replete with pleasures as a shop window at Christmastide.

It was twelve days hence of the grand festival of Yule, and Pawsburgh was all astir. Each day brought with it a promenade of surprises, with us furry denizens prancing about making merry. With a bounding heart, I shall commence the narrative of a day most remarkable — the first of the Twelve Dogs of Christmas.

My day began, as it always does, with a soft-landing escape from the clutches of sleep, and a prompt scamper to Jade Jack Russell Junction where the air was chilled and the pines whispered secrets of the holiday. “Good Morrow, Bailey!” called out Bella, she of melodious bark, brandishing a ratty tennis ball decked with a festive ribbon. “Prepare thyself for a challenge!”

The Junction rang with the barks of approval from my brethren as we launched into a game of catch and jest, that most ancient of dogly pastimes. All the while, our coats dusted with morning dew that glistened like a thousand little Christmases upon each strand of fur.

As the midday sun climbed the sky, we traipsed to Beagle Bagels, where the aroma of baking bread (and other delights) filled the air like the prelude to a hymn of feasting. My beloved grilled chicken bits, seasoned to canine perfection, awaited on the special festive menu. Luna, the proprietor, a black Labrador with an infallible nose for good taste, greeted me with a bagel so sumptuously soft — a cloud of wheat and honey, it seemed — that one could happily expire upon it.

Notwithstanding, the rice cakes, much like the Squirrels, were adversaries to my palate — both consumed with the most lackadaisical spirit. Post gracious repast, my thoughts drifted to the Andersons and their human Christmas preoccupations. With sagacious contemplation best reserved for post-prandial moments, I pondered what Yuletide surprise I could concoct for them this year.

Now to the Spa for Paws where dogdom’s finest convene for respite; all the better to look dashing for the Eve of Noël. ‘Tis a sight to behold a canine spa — bubbles abounding, and tails aflutter in unison to the carols played softly in the background, a perfect medley of relaxation and companionship.

In the spirit of giving, each of us had drawn a name from the hat (a most fetching homburg, I might add). I, Bailey, had the honor to present Max, the sagely Beagle, with a gift at sunset. And what better than a set of spectacles from The Howling Husky Hardware Store — more jest than utility, admittedly, but Max received them with the grace and humour with which they were intended.

As twilight descended upon Pawsburgh and the shimmering lights cast a reverie upon the snow, we recounted our day’s adventures with hot cider and soft blankets at Pomeranian Park. ‘Twas a Yuletide tableau of such warmth and charm, one couldn’t but feel the glow of the season in our furry chests.

Thus passed the first day of the Twelve Dogs of Christmas in Pawsburgh. Eleven more awaited, with surprises certain to tickle the fancy and bring joy to every paw, nose, and wagging tail. For, as the wise dogs of Pawsburgh say — and rightly so — the spirit of Christmas isn’t just about the day itself, but the shared moments leading up to it.

The End.

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