Hey Mom and Dad,

Imagine your Bucky leading a crew of merry ghost dogs through Spencerville’s Christmas! We barked carols, joined snow races, and even inspired a pup treat flavor. Missing you lots, reminiscing in the glow of festivities, feeling the love amidst the holiday spirits. Eternal yuletide cuddles!

Hugs and face licks,
Bucky Jones 🎄🐾

Listen to the story here

Ah, Christmas. Jolly, they call it; a season of sparkly lights and tinsel-draped trees – and I confess, in Spencervlle there is a particular effervescence in the air. Bucky is the name, and the Yuletide yapping is my game.

It was the Twelve Dogs of Christmas, and never had Spencerville seen such a rollicking countdown to the grand day. On the first day in this quaint town where we, the dearly departed pets, frolic until the sweet reunion with our humans, I found myself awakening not to the usual serene sunlight, but to a ruckus.

It was Marley, the mischievous Maltese from Maltese Meadow, bearing a gift basket laden with treats from the Pupsicle Palace. A sly wag in her tail, she challenged me to a day of riotous romping – and how could I, Bucky, of the noble bulldog descent, refuse such a call to merriment?

The second day brought with it Percy from Pet Partners Pet Supplies. With an invitation under his floppy ear, I was beckoned to a holiday market. Ah, the air was rich with scents of leather collars and fresh jerky! I purchased a new Dragonchik toy, my old comrade in many a valiant living room battle, had alas, succumbed to the wear of time and teeth.

The third and the fourth came rolling in with Gus and Winnie of Westie Woods. Together we crafted a canine chorus, barking harmoniously the carols of Spencerville. We were not quite the Vienna Boys Choir, but I dare say we turned many a snout with our melodious howls.

Onward the days pranced, each bringing its own delight. From Western Husky Hill descended Duke with a sleigh – yes, a sleigh! – for a snow-drenched race down the frosty banks. A bulldog I may be and built with the agility of a tea cosy, but was not I, Bucky, in the spirit of things? Of course! So sleigh I did.

The tails, ah, they do wag as the days percussioned by. Yappy Yogurt concocted a flavor in my honor: Bucky’s Baconchik Bliss, rich and savory on the tongue. Imagine my rare dance, typically reserved for those high heavens of bacon scents, now witnessed by an audience chuckling at my expense!

And so the days twirled, a festival of bones, and each creature in Spencerville, be they small or vast, joined in the revelry. Our shenanigans spread like the aroma of the Doggy Delight’s special Christmas stew, seeping into every cranny and coaxing every last bark of laughter from our furry throats.

Then came the eve of Christmas, and we sat, a huddle of warmth beneath the twinkling canopy. I, Bucky, genuine in my roots of loyalty, found my thoughts adrift to my family. A pang, sweet and soft like a cushion, nudged at my heartstrings. I fancied them, remembering me and awash with that same tender sentiment.

But hark! What light from yonder bright store breaks? The Barking Boutique’s beacon, summoning us stray spirits to gather and gaze upon the tree that stood courageously bearing the weight of a hundred baubles.

And amongst the silent reverie, in the serene hush of the Spencerville night, we sensed the twinkle of magic, that our loved ones far away had not forgotten, and in their hearts, we were remembered, just as vividly as the Christmas memories we were creating here.

Tomorrow, the Christmas day, we would feast and prance; but tonight, we rested in the glow of an eternal Christmas pause, where every star above was a love not lost, merely waiting.

Such tales I weave, happenings curious and droll! All in the camaraderie of my fellow canine chums, leading up to the grand affair of Christmas morn. I suppose, one such as I, could do far worse than a Bulldog’s yuletide frolic in Spencerville, a splendid place for the eternally loyal of heart.

The End.