Hey Mom and Dad, it’s your Holly-day hero here! 🐾✨ Just wanted to let you in on the tail of my latest adventure: I’ve been conspiring with Tucker, proving to be the Clark Griswold of dogs here in Pawsburgh. We’ve outshone the town’s Christmas decor – think: rustic chic with a sniff of elegance. Stockings hung, holly in place (a personal touch 😉), and won the contest too! Paws and reflect on that! Licks and wags, Holly 🎄

Listen to the story here

There I was, Holly, on Papillon Promenade, a sight to melt hearts and snag many an envious glance. See, I’d pulled off the old “owner’s too busy to notice” hat trick again, slipped by as silent as a whisper during one of those human Christmas rush hours when they’re more tangled up in lights than thoughts. So here I am, in Pawsburg, where adventures for us four-legged wonders abound like carrots in a garden—only we’re way more interested in digging them up.

Now, Pawsburgh at Christmastime—it’s like a fairy tale, if fairy tales were told by dogs and involved a lot more sniffing. This contest, the town’s most glimmering gem of galas, our human families adorning their dwellings as if channeling their inner Liberaces—bedecking trees, decking halls, and, of course, hiding our favorite chew toys in the process.

Tucker, as predictable as sunup, came bounding toward me at Mastiff’s Meals, where the scent of artisanal kibble was almost enough to keep my mind off the vacuum cleaner’s tyranny, that mechanical beast. The golden fur on him shone like polished brass, his tail wagging with that contagiously rhythmic enthusiasm that could probably solve half the world’s sadness—if you bottled it up and sold it on late-night commercials.

“Holly, my ever-so-vigilant comrade!” he barked. “Our humans are in dire need of our Christmas contest expertise.”

The plan was straightforward as a stick fetch—help our humans outglitter and outshine the competition with our superior doggy décor discernment. The problem? Well, it wasn’t cat-proofing the setup; it’s never really about the cats. Nope, the real stumbling block was my distaste for ear-cleaning. There’s always the risk some well-meaning human gets festive and thinks jingle bells on collars are a grand idea. The mere jangle is enough to send shivers from muzzle to tail tip.

Nevertheless, we pit bulls aren’t just strong in body but in spirit too. So, with the elegance of a Balanchine ballerina—if Balanchine had ever, you know, had a pit bull corps de ballet—I devised a decorating scheme on the fly. “You see, Tucker,” I explained, prancing around, formulating our strategy, “it’s all about the harmony of aesthetics and the olfactory experience. We’ll balance the visual with the scented—a feast for the eyes and noses alike.”

“Right, the noses!” Tucker concurred, “I’ve snatched just the ticket from The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium—a gratuitous selection of seasonal scents.”

Tucker was the fetcher, I the planner. I had visions of décor that involved boisterous romps in Pomeranian Park, snagging fallen branches, repurposing them into rustically heartfelt ornaments. Our human counterparts would marvel at our resourcefulness and probably assume they’d ordered these bespoke decorations online during a sleep-shopping episode.

From The Snooty Snout Boutique, we requisitioned the finest stockings, holly leaves gently tucked along the mantles, a subtle nod to yours truly. Don’t you just love a little narcissism wrapped up in Christmas cheer?

And as the morn of Christmas dawned, our brilliant collaborative canvas sparkled, our families stirring, wrapped in the warmth of their doggone festive homes. Tongues lolled in canine smiles as they ogled the efforts sprung from paw and heart—an ensemble of décor formidable enough to make those humans wonder if Santa himself had two extra legs and a tail this year.

We won, naturally. Not just the contest, but those moments when we dogs and humans sat entwined in mutual victory, beneath a mistletoe that somehow smelled of that squishy ball I dearly cherish.

An odd couple of heroes we were in that twinkling season—a playful rust pit bull and his golden-buddy sidekick, tugging at the garland of Christmas just enough to steal the show without toppling the tree. It’s those little victories, really, that make every ear-cleaning, every vacuum chase, utterly worth it.

The End.