Hey, it’s Chance. Just discovered I’m more than my human’s sidekick—I’m Pawsburgh’s secret Santa-paws! Miss Hubble’s away, but I found I’ve touched hearts with my wag & bark. From Pippin’s morning serenade to the lonely toys at Fetch!, who’d have thought this pooch’s spirit could light up the town? Turns out I’m spreading cheer in my own furry way. Merry Christmas, and here’s to a holiday brimming with unexpected tail wags! 🎄🐾✨ – Chancer Claus

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Ah, Merry Christmas Eve it is, here in Pawsburgh, but my spirits find themselves rather… how does one say it? Droopy, much like my ears atop this long-nosed face of mine. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Chance, and I, dear readers, am in the throes of a holiday melancholy.

My human, the dear bibliophilic Mrs. Hubble, is spirited away commemorating festive obligations with distant relatives, and here am I, left to the company of clinking ornaments and the soft hum of the yuletide log on the television. Miss Hubble insists it brings comfort, but I find cold little solace in its low electronic crackle.

Wandering outside, the stars above Cavalier Cove winked with irritating cheerfulness, oblivious to my disheartened state. Along Affenpinscher Avenue, I meandered past the wistful Howling Husky Hardware Store—oh, the memories of scampering there with Mrs. Hubble for a light bulb or two, and utilizing my canine charm to secure an extra treat.

I sauntered to Samoyed Square, where the lights blazed like a beacon of merriment. My four-legged friends, Joey and Ms. Whiskers, trotted along, rosy and about their own festivities. There I was, trotting among them, feeling as out of place as a bone in a bowl of cotton—no joking matter, take my word for it.

“Lonely on this festive eve, Chance?” a voice crooned beside me. Turning, I found a rather peculiar sight: a soft glowing figure, like those little light bugs on summer eves, but grander, almost…angelic.

“A bit,” I admitted, my voice as hushed as falling snow. “Christmas isn’t quite Christmas without Mrs. Hubble.”

This glowing apparition, whose halo seemed to be slightly askew, wagged his tail in understanding. “What if I told you, Chance, that you’ve made much more of a mark than you realize? I am your guide tonight to show you the wonder of your bark!”

And with that, like magic—or perhaps an especially stinky cheese—a fog surrounded us, and scenes from my life appeared. First, little Pippin the Parakeet, my morning herald, confessing to the pear tree that my Robust Renditions of ‘Bark the Herald Angels Sing’ was the true music to her ears.

Next, we floated to Pup’s Parfait and Canine’s Cuisine, where my absence was felt like a missed beat in a symphony. The tables missed my elegant brushing against their legs; my friends, their toasts lacking my hearty ‘Woof!’

We zipped to Fetch! Toys and Treats where my favorite red rubber ball lay dormant, as if waiting for my bounce to give it purpose again. The shop owner pinned a note on the wall in my honor: “To Chance, the charming customer whose wag could outshine the gloom with the glee only true friendship can bring.”

I witnessed the secret admirations of dog friends and feline companions, each carrying a story of how my tail’s wag and my bark’s embrace shaped their days for the better.

The journey ended as swiftly as it had begun, the angel escorting me home as the first light of Christmas crept across the skyline.

“See, Chance, you have spread more joy than you can imagine,” the angel murmured, fading back into the ether.

And there I sat, in the quiet glow of Christmas morn, realizing that it was not only a wonderful bark, but a blessed life of small moments that created a universe of happiness.

So, as I await the beloved Mrs. Hubble’s return, with newfound warmth bubbling like a pot of stew, I bark gently to you: Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good chew!

The End.