Hey Mom and Dad,

Just wrapped up the wildest Christmas as Spencerville’s stand-in Santa Paws! Went from hoarding tennis balls to handing them out, played furry therapist to a tail-chasing Dalmatian, sailed Labradoodle Lake, and survived the Tan Dalmatian Desert. Even got a hairy thumbs up from THE Santa Paws. Best part? I’m back home, tail intact, dreaming of basketballs.

Nighty night,
Sammy 🐾🎅

Listen to the story here

Well, it’s me, Sampson, and I’ve got a tail – I mean, tale – to tell ya. This one’s about the Christmas I spent in Spencerville, and it’s a whopper, so buckle up. I was just lounging around one day, basking in the glory of my perfect brindle patch, when Fat Russell bounced up to me, practically quivering with excitement. “Sampson,” he panted, “Santa Paws is comin’ to town, and he’s lookin’ for an apprentice!”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure I had the chops for Santa Paws-ing. I’m more of a ‘chase the deflated basketball’ than a ‘spread joy and giving’ kind of pup, but how could I resist such an offer? The thought of me, Sampson, handing out toys and treats; it was ludicrous. So ludicrous, I decided I had to do it.

And so, my episodic adventure began. First stop: Chow Hound Café, where they serve the finest roasted chicken in all of Spencerville. They needed a Santa Paws to hand out toys and treats to the little pups dining in style. The sparkle in their eyes was enough to deter my nostrils from the delectable aroma of chicken. I was doing good, real good. I handed out tennis balls like they were going out of fashion; my usual hoarding tendencies took a backseat.

Next up was Waggle n’ Wok, where I met a Dalmatian who ran in circles trying to catch her tail. Turned out, she just wanted a friend. So, I sat there, let her catch mine. It’s not as easy as it looks, mind you. Her joy was so palpable, it could have popped my basketball.

My list of good deeds grew longer than a Great Dane’s legs as I made my way through Spencerville, decked in red and white, a beard that frankly, itched more than a flea. I hitched a ride across Western Labradoodle Lake with Marley, who chortled so hard at my get-up; I thought he’d cough up his lunch. But once he saw me in action, he knew I was committed to this Santa Paws business.

Then, the incident at Tan Dalmatian Desert. There I was, struggling through the sand, the desert testing my stamina more than a vet visit. What’s that? An oasis? No, even better – The Dapper Dog Salon. A bulldog’s last stand. My brindle and white coat had turned to brindle and tan, and I needed to clean up my act. They pampered me back to my former glory, but not without a stern warning: stay clear of pretzels and bananas if you want to keep your suit spotless.

In the end, I found myself at the foot of that familiar tree where the world just feels right. I had played Santa Paws, and I had done it with gusto (especially for a bulldog).

But this, my dear friends, is the kernel of the nut; the moment to lick – for Christmas came, and Santa Paws, the real one, finally appeared. He was majestic, a Mastiff of magnificence, and with a wink, he passed his baton on to me, if only for a moment.

So here we are, Fenway snoozing on my tail, Marley snickering in his sleep, and me, a bulldog Santa Paws, albeit retired, dreaming of dribbling a full-size, fully inflated basketball down the court. What a holiday, what a town, what a life!

And with that, I bid you goodnight. Stay slobbery, my friends, stay slobbery.

The End.