Hey Fam!

Guess what? I’ve pretty much become Spencerville’s secret festive maestro! Found a spoon (yes, a spoon) and turned this town into one big adorable animal orchestra. I’m tapping out beats and spreading cheer like fairy dust. Even got old Buster howling along. I’m now officially the little drummer pup bringing joy to every whiskered face this holiday season.

Missing you tons, but rocking the rhythm until we’re reunited.

Tail wags and snuggles,
Nickie 🥁🐾✨

Listen to the story here

(Nickie’s perspective)

In a corner of the world where the streets are paved with paw prints and fire hydrants are more plentiful than trees, there’s a rhythm that courses through the air; it throbs in the heart of Spencerville like a bass drum in a parade. And in the center of it all, humbler than the modest daisies sprouting between sidewalk cracks, I found my calling.

It started one chilly evening at the onset of the holiday season. Spencerville was draped in a kaleidoscope of twinklers and ribbons, and the air smelled of cinnamon and the evergreen musk of the trees lining Chihuahua Castle’s grand entrance. I remember strolling by the Paws-A-Latte, the little bell above the door jingling a merry welcome to every critter that stepped in for a nip of hot cider, or perhaps a gingerbread treat from The Woofy Bakery next door.

But it wasn’t the brew or the sweets that captured my fancy; no, it was something far simpler. A discarded spoon, scarred by the teething marks of a pup with mighty jaws. It lay there, unassuming, near the Best in Show Photography shop, winking at me beneath the glow of the festive lights. And as I trotted by, my ear caught the faintest whisper of a beat, synchronizing in tempo with the steps of everyone around me.

Call it whimsy or fancy flight, but I picked up that spoon—don’t ask how; we Yorkies have our ways—and it wasn’t long before I found myself tapping it tenderly against various surfaces: lamp posts, benches, even the delicate china of discarded teacups outside Bark and Bites. Each thing I touched sang its own sweet note in response.

The tapping became my secret delight, my own little chant of joy, weaving into the tapestry of Spencerville’s holiday hum. It wasn’t long before others took notice; after all, when a Yorkie makes music, you listen with more than just your ears.

It was the fourth night of Spencerville’s holiday festival when the most curious thing happened. I found myself perched by the grand Christmas tree standing guard over Brindle Brown Boxer Beach, spoon at the ready, when a hush fell over the crowd.

The lights twinkled softly, the silver strands of tinsel shimmering. With a deep breath that sang of grilled chicken feasts and the fond memory of stuffed animals awaiting my return, I began my concerto—a soft, steady cadence building, resonate with the heartbeat of Spencerville.

A stray Dalmatian tapped his paw, while a cluster of kittens, entranced, purred in perfect pitch. Even old Buster, the St. Bernard who guarded Bone Appetit’s front step, found himself howling a gentle bass to accompany my rhythm. We were an impromptu orchestra, an unexpected choir.

The music drew in a crowd—from the toddlers yipping excitedly to the grand old dogs who watched with eyes wizened by many holidays past. And we played, oh how we played, our voices merging into one singular symphony, a testament to the spirit that united us.

For, you see, in Spencerville, music isn’t about the grandeur or the accolades; it’s about the raw beauty of sharing something real. A melody, homespun and pure.

I looked to the stars that twinkle like the mischievous spark in my plush fox’s button eyes, and I thought, not without a tender ache, of the family that had showered me with love—the family I knew I’d see again. Until then, until home calls me back over the rainbow bridge, I am Nickie, the little drummer pup, playing my simple song of rhythm and joy, warming the heart of every pet in Spencerville during the holiday season.

And yes, the vacuum still roars monstrously, claiming the scents of holidays past, but it is no match for the music that thrums within my soul and the souls of everyone whose pawsteps dance to the beat of Spencerville’s festive drum.

The End.