Hey Mom & Dad,

Guess what? I’m the heroine who melted Ebenezer Fetch’s frosty heart with my wagging tail and festive spunk in Spencerville! 🐾 Our grumpy neighbor is now full of Christmas cheer—proof that even the crotchetiest soul can’t resist a good ol’ doggy nuzzle. Who knew your furball could be a holiday spirit guide?

Sending tail wags and joy,

Khloe 🎄✨

Listen to the story here

Once upon a time in the jolly bends of Spencerville, where Christmas twinkled in every eyeful and chimed in every earful, a holiday aired less cheer in one sorry corner—a cave atop the Shepherd Skyline, where sat the town Grinch, old Ebenezer Fetch. Now it ain’t no secret that Ebenezer held more scowls than the Cat’s Meow Café could serve saucers of milk on a busy Sunday. But let this yarn unspool and you might find yer heart growing a size or two right alongside his.

As for me, well I’m the one they call Khloe, a mottle-coated lass with a crescent moon mark upon my shoulder like a smudge o’ cloud on a night sky. I reckon I was a sight of jubilation in a town dolloped with delight.

It came to pass one crisp eve, when the ribbons in the air smelt like roast chook and the stars winked approval, that I trotted from my abode for a spot of gaiety. Passed I did the luminous Chihuahua Castle and the bustling Ruff-n-Ready, with no more’n a nod to Max, who yelped the headlines of the day, and a courteous bow to Bella, who art graceful as a song.

With jollity in step, mine eyes laid haven upon that lonesome cave where the Grinchy Fetch grumbled to the tune of his own humbugs. Well I’ll be, thought I, if that ol’ cave ain’t the darkest smudge on Spencerville’s gilded parchment. In the spur of a festive spirit, I resolved to trot my way up there and sprinkle a spot of Christmas serenade his way.

The way wasn’t for the faint-pawed or the spindle-legged, but with purpose as stout as the ale at Paws-A-Latte, I scaled that peak. Into his den I pranced, with all the quiet of a mouse tiptoeing past a cat, and there he sat, scrunched like a crumpled paper in the corner.

“Why, Merry Christmas, Mr. Fetch,” I announced, not balking when his scowl beamed back like a lighthouse warning off mirthful ships.

“Merry? What’s merry about it?” he griped, snatching tight to his blanket much like I minded to the ratty tennis ball I favored.

I ken his walls were bare, not a single stocking or garland in sight. So, with the grace of a snowflake in descent, I wagged a tale—no, a tail—to him. “Why sir, it’s Christmas in Spencerville, where joy prances free and souls unite neath a canopy of glee.”

Fetch harrumphed, “Joy, pah! Bah on your canine charades. I’ve had my fill of tinsel-tangled tribulations.”

Sensing the brittleness in his bark, I aimed to soften it with a melody of my own—a hum, a dance, and a pant of the festive sort, right there on his dusty floor. I nuzzled the edge of his knee with an affection as tender as the roasted bits I adored. “Christmas ain’t just bobbles and bruhaha, it’s the warmth of a heart that’s found trust in another.”

And by the twinkle of the stars that broke through his cave, something in that Grinch seemed to unfurl—a hint of a smile? A softening gaze? “Curious creature,” he muttered, his hand finding the crescent moon of my fur. “Perhaps, perhaps there’s some worth in this festive fuss.”

Day bled into eve, and eve into night, and Fetch, O’ he softened like butter on a hot skillet. The more untrussled the joy I showed, the more unbeknownst warmth flowed from his craggy old chest. And I daresay, by the time Christmas reached its luminous peak, old Ebenezer Fetch was seen gallivanting down Shepherd Skyline, a hound by his side and a chuckle in his frame.

Thus, in the annals of Spencerville, it’s told how a Grinch came to find Christmas grace—with the help of a dog named Khloe whose heart knew no bounds, and whose tail wagged a rhythm of unfettered joy. And the legend of Spencerville twirled on, like a snowflake caught in a merry jig, dancing to the tune of everlasting love and friendships that weave through even the grumpiest of hearts.

The End.