Hey there! Just a quick pupdate: Ya boi Gibbd nailed the role of Santa Paws this year. I’m all about spreading cheer and keeping tails wagging until we can get our belly rub fix from our humans again. Spencerville’s got that holiday magic, and your pal is leading the parade in true festive style! Ho, ho, ho and a barkin’ jolly Christmas to all! 🐾🎅 – Santa Gibb 🎁🐶

Listen to the story here

I woke up that morning with the scent of pine needles and the faintest hint of gingerbread tickling my nostrils. The sun hadn’t yet dared to peek over Upper Black Bulldog Bay, but Spencerville was already alive with a peculiar magic. It wasn’t just another day—it was the day before Christmas. Sure, us Spencervillians were just waiting around for our grand reunion with our humans, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t indulge in a bit of festive spirit.

I stretched my Black Border Collie-Lab mix legs, a luxurious yawn cutting through the quiet calm like a ship parting the sea. I found myself rather alone though, an unusual occurrence given my close-knit, albeit motley, circle of friends.

“And why, pray tell, is Gibb not romping through Corgi Castle on this frosty morn?” inquired Max, the beagle with quite the vocal range, suddenly appearing as if he’d tunneled his way from an opera house to my doorstep.

“Bella’s got plans,” I replied, wiggling my gleaming coat into its full morning splendor. “And Duke, well, he’s probably spinning another yarn to the youngsters.”

Max’s nose gave a twitch, a sure sign he was thinking something he deemed profound. “Christmas Eve, and we’re all scattered like last year’s fallen leaves. Time we rallied the tr—”

His canine monologue was cut short by Bella, the terrier with more quips than one could shake a stick at, trotting earnestly up my garden path.

“Gibb! Oh, Gibb! The flyers are up! It’s happening today!”

I cocked my head, which signaled my intrigue quite clearly. “What’s going on?”

She was practically jumping out of her fur with excitement. “The Santa Paws rehearsals!” She skidded to a halt before us, panting as if she’d just outrun the fastest greyhound on Spotted Red Beagle Beach. “They need a Santa Paws, and they need one posthaste!”

As the Christmas caper unfurled, we found ourselves at The Fetching Deli, where the air was thick with the sizzle of bacon and the aromas of the holiday smorgasbord. The owner, a portly pug named Percy, was holding auditions for the role of Santa Paws—a rather important tradition, where one lucky pup would get to deliver gifts to all the critters of Spencerville, spreading cheer and teaching the young ‘uns the joy of giving.

“Why don’t you give it a whirl, Gibb?” Duke suggested as he joined us, fresh from captivating an audience with his tales.

Me, Santa Paws? The idea was ludicrous, and yet… I chewed it over like a savory piece of that prized cheddar.

I had never considered myself the Christmas type but thinking back to my human pack and those cherished Crimbos past, a warming glow began to simmer in my chest. Spreading a spot of happiness might just be the most fitting way to honor those memories, at least till the time came for that big ol’ reunion.

With a nudge from my friends, I found myself signing up. The auditions passed in a whirl—tails wagging, ears flapping, and pups of all stripes trying on the iconic hat and beard. When my turn came, I remembered Sir Squeaks-a-lot, my faithful squeaky companion. If I could maintain joy in the simple squeak of a toy, perhaps I could embody the cheer and generosity of Santa Paws.

It turned out that my unassuming demeanor and penchant for good-naturedness were just what Percy was seeking. I almost bowed out when he said, “You’ve got the spirit, Gibb. The spirit!”

That night, clad in a plump red suit that mussed up my sleek fur something dreadful, I aced the final dress rehearsal, complete with a sleigh drawn by the swiftest greyhounds of Spencerville. The puplings lined up, eyes wide, tails flapping like banners in the breeze, while I delivered the goodies with a “Ho, ho, ho!” that would’ve made old Saint Nick proud.

Bella, Max, Duke, and the whole of Spencerville fell into a joyful ruckus, and at that moment, I knew I had found my Christmas calling. As the anticipation of Christmas morning spun around us like a delicate snowfall, I reveled in the love we shared as adopted family—united not by blood, but by the togetherness of our souls in this town built on legend.

The spirit of giving, I learned that blessed eve, illuminates the darkest nights just as surely as the stars that twinkle above the waves at Upper Black Bulldog Bay. And, perhaps, it’s the very thing that keeps our hearts smiling as we wait in Spencerville, where the squeak of Sir Squeaks-a-lot is merely the metronome to our enduring dance.

The End.