Hey, it’s Fang here, your jowl-swinging, droopy-eyed narrator. In the thick of Pawsburgh’s Yuletide whimsy, I lead my pack in wagging hope into my tight-fisted human’s heart. Carrots and cucumbers aside, it’s the scent of change, not just beef stew, that’s got my nose this Christmas eve. Watch this space – the softening of one human heart might just set tails alight with joy. Chew toys at the ready; it’s redemption time. 🐾 Fang

Listen to the story here

In the shimmering twilight of Pawsburgh, where the scent of adventure is always just a sniff away, I found myself brooding under the vast canopy of stars. Fang, that’s me, a bulldog with a heart as mighty as my jowls are droopy, a loyal sentinel perched at the very edge of change.

It’s Yuletide in this doggone world – a time when humans sing and bells jingle. And in our own furry way, we too feel the tinsel-tickling pull. Even my human, a man so tight-fisted the coins squeal for mercy, seems on the brink of…something.

But let’s not digress. Tonight Pawsburgh shimmers with a little extra magic. Briard Bridge glows with fairy lights, enchanting enough to tempt a cat into a purr. But it’s down at Cocker Courtyard where my paws drag me. Because if there’s going to be a transformation, it’s going to be there, among the whispers and wagging tails.

I saunter through Affenpinscher Avenue, my shadow joins the ballet of ghosts darting through the crisp air. It’s a riot, my friends, a canine’s rhapsody, but within me, there’s a growl – for my human’s heart is a hard nut, a real tough one to crack.

The air is spiked with aroma, and it leads me like a siren’s song to Dog’s Delicacies, where beef stew, my dear passion, waltzes on the breeze. But no, not even that culinary bliss can sway me from the mission, from witnessing the miracle that Christmas tales are so fond of promising.

And there, as if queuing up for their own tales to be told, my mates prance – Baxter, nose twitching like he’s deciphering Morse code, and Polly, squawking carols off-key. Whiskers, with his lofty attitude, slinks among us, a sardonic fur-coated Yoda.

We converge, a curious council under a sky drizzled with stars, where I, Fang, share whispers of my human’s avarice. It is an annual tradition, where even the most withered heart gains a chance at redemption, and by dog, I believe in chances.

An epiphany – that’s what we’re here for. The human world calls it ‘Eureka’, but we just wag harder. We’re faithful, the cheerleaders of their moral egress, their escape from the clutches of greed. It’s almost hilarious, really – they measure life in currency, yet we measure it in moments.

Tonight, under a heaven that seems to crackle with unseen fireworks, my heart thuds a mighty hope. Our owners, our humans, with hands that can withhold or bestow, what change can they shimmer into existence?

I envision a banquet where chew toys won’t be hoarded but shared! A dream where the cacophony of ‘mine’ becomes the harmony of ‘ours’. And as my tongue lolls in anticipation of the story’s unfolding, it’s around now I remember the very essence of my breed: stubborn to the bone.

With the obstinacy of an English bulldog baying at the moon, I’ll watch my miser no more. For I’ve caught the scent of generosity in the bristle of his newly adopted smile, in the crinkle of wrapped presents no longer a currency, but tokens of joy.

How quaint, how utterly ludicrous, that the softening of one human heart can conjure such a festive ruckus in our secret city of tails.

I, Fang, friend to the lonely, four-legged witness to metamorphosis, find my own heart gaining a little extra wag thinking of the morrow’s feast. Carrots can dance with festive joy, but it’s the beef that shall pirouette on my tongue. And as for cucumbers, let them serve as a timely reminder that change, no matter how improbable, is always a whiff away in the ebb and flow of Pawsburgh’s nightly escapades.

The End.