Hey Mom and Dad,

Just had to text you about my epic Xmas role! I brokered peace with Socks (the Pomeranian Napoleon), helped kick off his dream art gallery for underdogs, and kept the spirit of Barkmas alive in Pawsburgh. All while sneaking back like a ninja before you woke up. Feeling like a festive hero – tails and tales were both wagging! Hope your dreams were as jolly as my night. 🐾

Merry Christmas,
Prince (aka FatFat)

Listen to the story here

I’ve never cared much for the frigid embrace of winter—its silver tendrils wrapping around Pawsburgh like a shawl draped over the shoulders of an aging empress. But the yuletide season, let me tell you, it sets my tail to wagging with the rhythm of jingle bells.

My name is Prince, by the way, a moniker befitting my stature, with a heart just too grand for my chest, as my humans often say. This Christmas, the tale that unfurled was one for the ages—a woof-worthy narrative if ever there was one.

It was the eve of the grand Barkmas Bash held annually at Retriever’s Restaurant. I trotted down Lhasa Lane, the snow gently crunching beneath my paws. The air was thick with the fragrance of Shepherd’s Shawarma, mingling with the smoky whispers of chestnuts from Pawprint Pizzeria. The town was alive, each bark and yip carrying tales of the past year.

Now, it’s etched in the bylaws of Pawsburgh that no paw shall remain idle at Christmas, and every heart should be generous—even to those who’ve done you wrong. I felt a tingle up my spine as I recalled my rivalry with Socks, a Pomeranian pup with a Napoleonic complex.

In my musings, I nearly tripped over Penny, my trusty sidekick—a Poodle mix with curls that bounced like the notes of a festive tune. “Watch it, Prince! Ready for tonight?” she barked, her exuberant spirit infectious.

“Absolutely!” I replied. “Though, there’s a loose end that needs a bow…”

She cocked her head. “Socks?”

I nodded. Forgiveness. It’s easier said than done, but it is a dish best served with a side of grace—and maybe a treat or two. As we entered Retriever’s Restaurant, bedecked in wreaths and twinkles, he was the first mongrel I spotted.

Family, whether by blood or bond, tangles more complexly than last year’s Christmas lights—and Socks, well, he was like that odd sock that got lost searching for its mate. Christmas was about finding that sock, wasn’t it?

“Socks!” I barked, offering a paw. “A truce for Christmas?” His pint-sized frame stiffened before melting into a wag. “Truce, Prince. And… Merry Barkmas.”

Paw in paw, we broke bread—or rather, tore meat from bone, a feast that went down in Pawsburgh lore. As we chewed, Socks divulged his dream of opening The Furry Friends Art Gallery, featuring art from the neglected pups of Pawsburgh.

It was hard not to admire his gumption, and my heart grew three sizes with the thought of what his gallery could mean. “I’ll help,” I vowed. “After all, it’s Christmas. And in Pawsburgh, dreams should be chased as fervently as tails.”

The harmony of the evening encapsulated the true spirit of Pawsburgh—a carol to be sung by born rivals. As the night unwrapped its joy, our tails composed an orchestra, and the clinking of bowls chanted like bells proclaiming peace, goodwill towards all dogs.

The hours slipped away and before I knew it, Penny nudged me. “Time to sneak back home, before the humans wake,” she whispered. We slipped out, under a sky that draped velvet and twinkled with stories.

Creeping under the covers, my humans none the wiser, I curled up beside them. Their calming breaths were the silent night to my caroling heart. I could hardly wait to gossip with them about my Barkmas adventure, knowing well they’d comprehend it all as just a happy dream.

But you and I, we know the truth. The Christmas spirit bloomed in this dog’s heart, and in the timeless streets of Pawsburgh, it’s always more than just a dream. Merry Christmas, my two-legged friends. May your hearts, like mine, find their boundless beat.

The End.