Hey hooman,

Just a quick paw to let you know I’ve had quite the adventure! I took the lead (no leash required) to track down a mysterious fiend ruining our Thanksgiving vibes. Turned out it was a cosmic critter just craving some companionship. In true holiday spirit, we welcomed them into our pack, boosting the parade with star-studded pizzazz! So, all’s well that ends with a wagging tail. Remember, Thanksgiving is all about togetherness—whether covered in fur or from another planet!

Stay pawsome,
Wynter 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

In the heart of Pawsburgh, where every lamp-post bore the ancient scent of heritage and every corner whispered tails of yore, there rumbled a discontent so pungent, it could curdle last year’s leftovers. I’m Wynter, by the by, a Black Labrador with eyes as mischievous as a squirrel in a bird feeder and a tail that wags to its own quirky beat.

Now, where was I before my thoughts scampered off like a hare at a greyhound track? Ah, yes. Discontent. It was the eve of the Thanksgiving Day parade, and Pawsburgh was a canvas of jubilation brushed with strokes of anticipation. But, just as every coin has its flip side (quite inconvenient when one is attempting to pay exact change), there was a mysterious fiend among us, determined to feast on the town’s cheer like a termite on a wooden leg.

Decorations vanished, floats were as deflated as a Mastiff’s bed, and Sniffer’s Sandwiches found themselves bereft of their—verily and forsooth—sniffable sandwiches. This was no common pilferer. This was sabotage, as subtle as my attempts to sneak onto the couch after a muddy walk.

The trail was colder than a poodle’s nose in December, so I called on my merry band of tail-waggers. Yes, it was time for action: the four-pawed variety. We of noble snouts and valiant hearts set forth, our goal to snoot out this scallywag and restore the town’s spirit faster than you could say “Scooby Snack.”

As I rallied Max, the Beagle whose nose knew more secrets than Luna’s diary (and trust me, that Siamese keeps a close ledger), a revelation struck me as sharply as the taste of the dreaded dry kibble. The saboteur was not of this world; their methodical mischief reeked of the extra-terrestrial. I deduced that this intergalactic grump dwelt among us, disguised as one of our own.

Our quest led us over Vizsla Valley and through Shar-Pei Shores, with even a brief yet invigorating chase across Chestnut Cocker Courtyard. We were adventurers, pioneers! Though I confess the allure of a romp distracted us as much as a pork chop in a vegetarian buffet.

Finally, beneath the moon’s silver spotlight, we cornered the culprit: a hairless creature with globs for eyes and ears flattened like an Overcooked Shepard’s Shawarma.

“Why do you wreak such havoc upon our feast of gratitude?” I barked, more out of etiquette than expectation. Dogs, after all, are suckers for good manners.

The alien’s reply left us with tails stiffer than a retriever’s resolve. “Alone am I, in a world foreign and furred. My heart, an empty dog bowl at dinnertime.”

A hush fell over our brigade, broken only by the discreet gurgle of Max’s stomach—he was partial to Setter’s Steakhouse, you see. It struck me that being the outcast at a feast was like being a bone buried and forgotten: cold, lonely, and a bit slimy.

And then, with regal grace that surprised even myself, I invited this solitary soul to weave their alien paw-prints into our terrestrial tapestry. “Join our parade, dear traveler. Display your talents, not in mischief, but in merriment.”

The other dogs gasped, causing a few collars to tighten in disbelief. Yet compassion, like a well-thrown frisbee, soared through Pawsburgh that night. The alien’s skills were a marvel, infusing our parade with cosmic creativity and interstellar flair.

As we congregated at Sniffer’s Sandwiches—replete again with its aromatic delights—I realized the essence of Thanksgiving wasn’t just in the Pageantry and the parade. It was in the unity of our diverse pack, the laughter mingling with the mingling of flavors, filling our bowls to the brim. My heart was as full as my belly would soon be, and my tail, that offbeat conductor, wagged a rhythm of pure, unadulterated thankfulness.

The End.

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