Hey fam! 🐾

Just had a pawsitively wild night being Pawsburg’s go-to pup. Guided canines through a pea-souper with Rudolph and his shiny snout, right to a crepe extravaganza at Corgi’s. All in a day’s work for yours truly – making heroes out of the underdogs and savoring gourmet crepes. Remember, every mutt’s unique, every nose has its tale!

Stay fuzzy 🐶✨

Ted E Bear

Listen to the story here

In the snug borough where twilight barks herald the whimsy of Pawsburg, I, Ted E. Bear, a dapper chap with fur in autumnal hues, reside as an unofficial mayor of sorts. You’ve seen the likes of me, no doubt—a bulldog with a heart so golden, Midas would envy.

Tonight, not unlike any other, emerged with misadventure as I trotted down Bichon Boulevard, basking in the secret life only we canines behold. In my wake, a certain Yuletide buzz electrified the air, and I was en route to a fete that promised extravagance beyond your garden-variety gala.

Dear reader, the vigor I exhibit would put your finest wind-up toy to shame—alas, an affair at Corgi’s Crepes was mustering, and I intended to indulge. You see, my esteemed palate favors the understated elegance of peanut butter and the intrigue of pumpkin, all whipped into a crepe so delicate, it could make a grown dog whimper.

Ah, but fate had other plans fanned out in its paw. For just beyond the aromatic embrace of savory triumph, fog laid its heavy blanket upon Pawsburg like an old aunt smothering you with overzealous affection. The canines, accustomed to clear starry skies, were baffled to the bone. And in that peculiar brume, echoes of concern bounced.

Ears pricked, I navigated toward the heart of the hubbub, my Wuggle ball in tow—outgrown yet not out-loved. As I approached Spitz Spire, the thrum of paw steps and the whispers of the night revealed the quandary: dear Rudolph, the young retriever with an incandescent schnozz, had secluded himself, disheartened by the townsfolk’s teasing.

“Really, they ought to be ashamed,” I mumbled to myself, my jowls aflutter with each huff. “Enough sour to pitch a lemonade stand.”

Under the shroud of fog, I found him, the poor pup shivering like a wet newspaper in a downpour.

“Rudolph, old sport, your luminous beak is nothing to sneer at,” I assured him. My voice, steady as steel, yet softer than Tiny’s fur when we nuzzle for an afternoon kip.

“Ted E. Bear, you don’t understand,” he sniffled, his nose glowing like the last ember of a dying fire. “On a night like this, I’m no more than a misfit.”

I let out a chuckle that, I admit, harbored a touch of old Dorothy Parker’s bite. “Why, being unique is the marrow of life! And say, we could use someone like you tonight.”

His ears perked up, a buoy in the sea of doubts. “How so?”

I cast a paw dramatically toward the foggy abyss. “Our friends are fumbling like zombies in a silent film. Lead the way to Corgi’s Crepes, Rudolph. Let that beacon of a nose shine.”

With a purpose mightier than an al fresco feast, Rudolph’s chest bloomed with courage as we set forth through the soup-thick fog. Each dog in Pawsburg followed his gleaming snout in awe until we paraded into Corgi’s like sentinels of old.

The Crepes! The barks! The cheer that erupted! Who would’ve thought, one retriever’s snubbed nose lighting the path to feasting and fun?

I plumped myself onto a chair, content as a Bichon in a bubble bath. “You see, dear boy, even a cursed cactus has its blossoms,” I said with Parker’s flourish.

As the night wound on, camaraderie filled the air thicker than the fog that enveloped Pawsburg only hours before. From the shadows of misjudgment, Rudolph emerged not just a hero but a friend—a gift all the more precious now snugly wrapped in the folds of my memory.

So, until my tail regales another tale, I bid you whisker tickles and a belly full of warmth—and never forget that, in Pawsburg, every dog has its day, peculiar noses and all.

The End.