Hey Buddy!

Just led the greatest holiday caper in Pawsburgh history – rescued my long-lost rubber chicken from The Tail Wagger’s Tailor. Turns out, the real holiday treasure wasn’t tasty treats, but cracking up under the stars with Max and Bella. Who needs mistletoe when you’ve got a good laugh and even better friends? Pawsburgh’s finest charmer and adventurer has struck again!

Tail wags and chuckles,
Hank the Holiday Hound 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

They say Pawsburgh never sleeps, but that’s only half-true—it naps, fervently. And on one exceptionally frosty evening, just as the holiday lights began to shimmer in Jade Jack Russell Junction, I, Hank the Pomeranian, found myself alone in a charming countryside cottage, staring out the window at a scene right out of a snow globe.

It wasn’t long before the allure of Pearl Papillon Promenade beckoned with its twinkling festivities. My paws itched for adventures, perhaps a romp around the tree in Pinscher Plaza or a quick prowl for a party. You see, the Joneses were away, trusty rubber chicken sadly lost in the last escapade, and my anticipation of kisses under the mistletoe was fainter than a Chihuahua’s growl.

So, with a hero’s resolve (and a stomach yearning for something other than my reflection for company), I ventured out, my blue merle coat all the camouflage I’d need against the evening’s dusk.

“A holiday soirée, Hank? A little on-the-nose, don’t you think?” I mused aloud as I trotted, each step bubbling with Tina Fey-esque sarcastic pep. The notion of being a lonely dog about town with my own laugh track seemed oddly comforting.

A beckoning scent wafted from Pawprint Pizzeria, drawing me to the cozy establishment. I confess, the promise of chicken and pumpkin specials had me salivating more than the thought of Bella’s slick gossip. Yet, just as I was about to step into culinary heaven, an uncouth whiff hit me—the unmistakably vile tang of citrus! “For the love of Lassie,” I cried, “it’s a holiday trap!”

I skirted the citrus assault as nimbly as a figure skater, leaving Pawprint Pizzeria and my betrayed taste buds. Forlorn and with a gurgle in my gut that wasn’t affection, I continued my stroll—past Tail-Twitching Treats, offering sugary delights that wouldn’t quite satiate me.

Then, as I was about to abandon my holiday hopes like the last bite of an unwanted kibble, a sight more precious than a fresh pack of tennis balls caught my eye. There it was, the dilapidated yet still brilliantly squawking rubber chicken, ensnared amidst festive decor at The Tail Wagger’s Tailor.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in… or would have, if cats were cool enough to hang here,” I quipped to no one in particular, though I suspected Max and Bella were concealed behind some rack of tuxedos, chuckling at my commentary.

In a moment of pawsome heroism, I rescued my long-lost squeaky companion, cradling it like the world’s most cherished holiday roast. Reveling in the reunion, my voice rose in a squeak-filled carol, causing Max and Bella to emerge, giggling like a couple of kids caught snatching Christmas cookies.

“Thought we’d find you mooning over some shepherd’s pie at Pup’s Parfait,” Max barked, his tail wagging a mile a minute.

Bella snorted. “Figured you’d be serenading your reflection in Best in Show Photography’s window, singing carols about your beloved mug.”

I grinned, nuzzling my reclaimed poultry polypropylene pal. “Well, the night is young, and the company’s now tolerable,” I replied, teasing them with my usual, infectious festive spirit.

As we ambled together towards a gathering promising warm fires and warmer company, I knew the true magic of the holidays lay not in the succulent taste of chicken or the allure of a perfectly-groomed coat, but in the laughter shared with fur-ends under the snowy Pawsburgh sky.

With warmth spreading through my paws and friendship lighting my spirit brighter than any holiday bauble, I, Hank the mischievous Pomeranian of Pawsburgh, began to truly understand the meaning of the holiday season. And somewhere in the crisp evening air, I swore I heard the faint jingling of Santa Paws’s sleigh bells, off to create holiday miracles for all the good girls and boys. Indeed, the leash was in my paws. And I led on, ever the holiday hound.

The End.