Hey there! Just a quick pupdate: I led a foggy, tail-wagging flash mob to Murphy’s Meadow with Rudolph’s shining snout lighting the way. Turned out to be the most barktastic, impromptu ‘foggy Christmas’ celebration Pawsburgh’s ever seen. Turns out, we all shine brighter together. Catch ya later for the de-tails! 🐾 – Roxy

Listen to the story here

Well, isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do? It was another near-fairytale morning in Pawsburgh—a place that could give Disney a run for its money, and perhaps a slight complex. I’m Roxy, by the way, your trusty Shepherd narrator, graced with a glossy coat that’s blacker than midnight minus a minute, and eyes that might’ve been plucked from the amber-rich soils of the Baltic region.

On this particular day, the sun played its golden fingers across the cobblestones of Schnauzer Street like a maestro. The clock had barely ticked past the moment when humans trudge off to their mysterious ‘jobs’, leaving canines free to engage in their own escapades. And it was on such a day that the story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Retriever wove its way into Pawsburgh lore.

Now Rudolph, that lad had a beak—excuse me, a schnoz—so bright, you might think he had snaffled one of Santa’s own headlights. His gift, or curse as some might see it, was nothing if not noticeable. And in Pawsburgh, ‘noticeable’ was a term usually reserved for the flamboyant headwear doled out at Canine Couture Clothing.

As I trotted down toward Rottweiler Ridge, partially to appreciate the architecture and partly to avoid the glorified rabbit food they call carrots—offered at Dog’s Delicacies—I noticed something odd. A sort of pearl-grey blanket was draped over Pawsburgh, a fog so thick it seemed the heavens had dropped down for a nap.

Through the shroud, something glowed. It was Rudolph, his nose a beacon at what might well be the town’s first fog-covered corner of Spitz Spire. He was standing outside The Pawfect Training Center, where the town’s dogs often learned the fine art of looking busy while doing absolutely nothing.

“Roxy!” His voice came dim through the mist, a flicker of hope in a soupy terrain. “Thank goodness! You’re like a walking, barking GPS. Mind guiding me to Murphy’s Meadow?”

“Of course,” I confirmed, feeling my perky ears practically wiggle with the prospect of adventure. It was a bit of a jaunt to Murphy’s Meadow, but under the pied-piper glow of Rudolph’s snout light, it was more parade than journey.

Along the way, we picked up our balletic Bella and our authoritative park-orator, Max. The mission was clear: guide the town’s pups to the Meadow for the spontaneous foggy festival of Christmas cheer. Because, why not? Pawsburgh pups celebrated any which day, and a ‘foggy Christmas’ seemed as good a reason as any.

We passed by Poodle’s Pasta, where they served fusilli that could make a grown Doberman weep, and we avoided Wagging Whisk, as I couldn’t quite face the sight of a carrot-topped cupcake. Curse my distaste for such vibrant vitamin A.

Rudolph led, nose aglow, through Peke Plaza and beyond Beagle Boulevard, his shiny beacon cutting swathes through the fog like a hot knife through butter. I trotted beside him, the plucky narrator, recounting the tale as we went. Dogs of every size and make followed along, entranced by the light and the sense of belonging.

By the time we reached Murphy’s Meadow, it was brimming with eager dogs. Ol’ Woodrow, the eldest Bloodhound, declared it a Christmas miracle — in March, no less. Spurred by Rudolph’s luminous confidence, we danced; we sang; we barked carols as though they were going out of style. Rudolph stood tall among us, his oddity now our guiding star.

And that, my dear reader, is how a young retriever with a glowing nose found his place in the warm, embracing paws of Pawsburgh. For when the fog rolled in, it wasn’t just Rudolph who was saved, but all of us, in finding the light within our peculiarities and the joy in unexpected celebrations.

It’s funny how life works in a town of dogs when the humans aren’t looking. It’s all a bit mad, inescapably merry, and, if you ask me, positively perfect.

The End.