Hey Mom,

Guess who turned the town grump into a Christmas miracle? I led Operation Cheer, mixing mission impossible with holiday spirit to thaw Ebenezer Schnoodle’s frozen heart. Pawsburg’s twinkling a bit brighter, and I’ve got a new tail to wag about. Oh, and we saved him a chicken thigh – it worked wonders!

Wags and Whiskers,
Riley 🐾

Listen to the story here

So it goes, another day in the charmed existence of a Mini Aussie by the name of Riley—that’s me—in the fantastical town of Pawsburg. The sort of place where yuletide spirit doesn’t just visit but decides to move in, buy a house on Schnauzer Street, and throw a party every night. Tinseled tails and jingle collars are the norm here in December. But as I saunter towards Garnet Greyhound Grove, I can’t help but think about old Ebenezer—Ebenezer Schnoodle, that is. A canine more curmudgeonly than a cat at a dog show.

Now, don’t get your fur in a bunch. Ebenezer wasn’t always like that. Whispers are, before my time, he was the life of the leash-free park. Then one Christmas, something broke. No one saw him for weeks. Now, he peeks through the shutters, a dog-shaped shadow cutting through the candlelight.

As I trot down Affenpinscher Avenue, a gust of frosty air chills my nose—sleighbells ring, are you listening?—but my thoughts are warm. Today isn’t about me. Today, I’m on a mission, unbeknownst to all, except for Baxter, my partner in crime and confidante in conspiracies.

I nose my way into The Canine Cafe, where the owner flips an “Open” sign to “Sorry, We’re Busy Making Magic.” See, a clandestine operation is in the whisking here. Tails wag in synchrony, mixing, baking, crafting—the scent of roasted chicken turns me into a beggar on two paws. It’s tough work, ignoring instinct. But I’m a dog on a dogged pursuit of happiness. For Ebenezer.

The cobblestone beneath my paws leads me to an overlooked alley, where the shadows grow long like the face of a Bassett Hound. There’s no tinsel here. Threadbare garlands hang as if to say, “Once upon a time, Christmas touched here, too.” At the end of it all stands a door, weathered like a rawhide bone. This is it.

I bark twice, a secret knock from last year’s caroling catastrophe. The door creaks open, the way a story starts in the library of one’s imagination. Ebenezer’s there, his coat the color of a storm cloud’s lining.

“What’s this?” His voice is rusty, like a hinge needing oil. “More carolers? More cheer?”

“Nope,” I say, the Vonnegut of vowels. “Delivery from Pawsburg’s heart to yours.”

I push forward the hamper filled with all the trimmings—but at the very top, roasted chicken. Baxter had said, “Ebenezer might just be one chicken thigh away from a smile.”

Ebenezer’s eyes reflect the myriad contents. They linger at the chicken.

“Thought you might be hungry,” I offer carelessly, like I toss my squeaky rubber ball.

His scowl remains, but there’s a twitch in his whiskers. The twitch turns into a sniff. The sniff surrenders to a taste. And as he chews, I see it. His eyes, they… sparkle?

“You…” He clears his throat, “You lads made this?”

“Sure did. Wouldn’t feel like Christmas without you getting a piece of it,” I bark back, all nonchalant.

Then, it happens. A smile peeks out like a pup from its litter – hesitant, then wholeheartedly.

The next thing I know, we’re romping back to the heart of Pawsburg. Baxter sniffs out more roasted chicken, I chase my squeaky ball, and Ebenezer, he… well, he begins to tell his own tail-wagging tale.

Call me Riley, a dog with a penchant for the dramatics of flavor and friend—but today, I’m just an Aussie, helping a heart remember its beat. And with that, Pawsburg glows a little brighter, the hermit’s heart a little warmer, and it is so with a bark full of tales, that the morrow finds old Ebenezer Schnoodle with a stocking of his own, pinned up beside the rest, a name sewn back into the fabric of festivity.

The End.