Hey Mom,

Guess what? Your George boy turned from homebody to holiday hero! Left my chew toys, faced my ear cleaner fears, and ended up at Pup’s Paella – a gathering of all tails and tales! Discovered the true meaning of Christmas with each wag and woof. It was bark-tastically heartwarming. Missed you, though. Imagine that!

Lots of licks,
George 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

Ah, Christmas Eve in Pawsburgh, and I, George, a Saint Bernard of considerable charm, found myself lounging in my countryside cottage. The air outside flirted with the scent of pine and the merry jingle of distant dog tags, while inside, I relished the quiet. I am, after all, a dog of simple pleasures – a juicy grilled nugget, the occasional wind in my fur – yet tonight, I longed for something… more.

You see, the festivities in Pawsburgh are quite the spectacle. All the pups prance to places like Setter Shore for their holiday revelry, and Highland Hounds howl harmonies under the mistletoe at Pearl Papillon Promenade. Me? I was pondering the existential nuances of my chew toy amidst unfortunate solitude.

This holiday, human friends and furry compatriots alike had ventured to far and frosty nooks of the world. How a dog could leave Pawsburgh during the Feast of the Furriest was beyond my comprehension; after all, hadn’t I read about such traditions in a crumbled edition of “Dog’s Day Digest”? Nevertheless, they left, and so I spent the evening contemplating my unshaken loyalty to Chick-fil-A nuggets over the philosophically unpalatable fruits and vegetables. I mean, really, who enjoys a cranberry?

As I set about my routine – strictly professional ear avoidance and bed recon for the impending fireworks – a scurry caught my attention. It came from the fireplace of all places, and not the traditional site for canid entry (the exquisitely dog-flapped front door).

Lo and behold, a vigorous shake and a peculiar sneeze heralded the arrival of Dudley, a Dachshund with a propensity for dramatics.

“George, old chap, you look more bored than a bulldog during ballet!” He exclaimed, emerging with a sooty wiggle.

I had to admit, his timing was impeccable. Pawsburgh rumor had it that Dudley once hounded the Great Houndini, and it seemed he had acquired a trick or two.

I grumbled my customary pleasantries. “And what adventure blows you in on Christmas Eve, Dudley?”

“A riddle for your ruminations!” he barked jubilantly. “What’s small, long, and brings Christmas cheer?”

“An ear cleaner?” I retorted. Dudley knew of my aversion to such monstrosities. He only wagged his tail more furiously.

“No! A surprise guest! You’ve been cooped up here while the whole of Pawsburgh’s at Pup’s Paella for the holiday huddle!”

I shook my massive head. “Festivities bring unexpected loud noises and heaven knows not a Chick-fil-A in sight.”

A series of sniffs and nods and an armful of invitations later, I was trotting alongside Dudley down the Pearl Papillon Promenade, feeling like an astronaut rediscovering gravity. The smells of Bulldog’s BBQ wafted through the air, and an involuntary drool begged for my reputation.

It wasn’t long before the duo of us burst through the doors of Pup’s Paella to applause as robust as my bark. What a sight! Friends of all shapes and sizes – every breed, every mixed marvel – nuzzling beneath the neon glow of Fetch! Toys and Treats across the way.

A holiday revelation hit me like a freight train of fetching balls: Christmas isn’t about the satisfaction of the ear remaining uncleaned or the perfectly flipped Chick-fil-A nugget. It’s about the warmth of camaraderie, the unpredictable joy of Pawsburgh.

So, I let my guard down and I, George, danced with wagging tails and clumsy paws, sharing tales of chewed up doorframes at The Pooch Playhouse. We devoured treats from The Woofy Bakery, and I abandoned all stubbornness – well, until someone mistakenly dropped a carrot into my bowl. Some habits, just like some dogs, are too grand to change.

As the night bled into a weary but content Christmas morning, it became clear: unexpected friendships had indeed been forged, and while there was no romance, unless you count my courtship with a particularly juicy BBQ rib, loneliness was a concept best left outside of Pawsburgh.

For a holiday in the life of George, it was extraordinary. Not bad for a day’s ponder, isn’t it?

The End.