Hey Mom,

Guess what? Archie’s heart grew three sizes this season – he’s gone from Scrooge to Santa, handing out treats and beds to all the stray pups in Pawsburgh! Who knew a miser could turn into the town’s holiday hero? I’m a proud sidekick in this tale of transformation, wagging my way into a festive fable. More when I see you.

Tail wags and holiday hugs,
Boo boo 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

‘Twas a peculiar day in Pawsburgh, that magical town of canine wonders, and even more unusual for ’twas the hibernal time of giving and goodly deeds. Now, I, A-Dog the Dapper Bully, bearing my heraldic coat of monochrome and tiger stripes, stood on the brink of witnessing an event most wondrous. My human, Archibald—whom, among friendlier circles, I’ve dubbed “Archie”—was known as the miser of our shared dwelling and by Jove, the surrounding avenues.

My morning saunter through Opal Pomeranian Park was as crisp as the air that nipped at my velvety ears. The grass sparkled with frost like the world was dipped in sugar—a thought that sends shivers down my spine rather than water to my chops, might I add. Yet, today’s jaunt held a promise of change. I could feel it in my bones, the same ones that ached to tell me when the rain was coming instead of a hearty meal.

Archie’s conversion began subtly, like the first hint of daylight on the horizon. I’d spotted him gifting a chew toy to Mrs. Clutterbuck’s poodle, the air filled with a Christmas spirit not quite like the usual scent, which is a bit more… well, let’s call it earthy. ‘Twas not the sort of behavior to expect from a man whose heart was rumored to be two sizes too small. Could a man truly change, or was it just the change in one’s pockets that rattled differently during these times?

In Pawsburgh, I frolicked along Amber Akita Alley, and tales of my human’s deeds followed like the trail of a particularly captivating scent. Not one for idle gossip—unless extraordinarily engaging—I listened with the twitch of an ear as the local tail-waggers whispered of Archie’s latest exploits.

I found myself at Puppy Plate, debating between the Bark-B-Q platter with a side of puréed pumpkin or the Woof-Worthy Waldorf. I’d barely mulled over the best way to stain a carpet when Benny the Beagle bounded up with enthusiasm, nearly knocking over a water bowl the size of a small pond.

“A-Dog!” Benny barked, nearly inaudibly, if not for my first-rate ears. “Have you heard? Your Archie’s bought out the whole of Mutt Munchies and is donating treats to all the stray mutts!”

The news caught me off-guard, like a squirrel in the peculiar game of stop-and-start they so love to play. I finished my meal, my tail sending Morse code messages of intrigue, and toddled off to Pet Partners Pet Supplies. As I padded in, the evidence was overwhelming. Waggish tails spun like cyclones as news had it that dog beds, once sold, were now donated affairs, plush as a cloud and thrice as fluffy.

The day was drawing to that mystical twilight hour when Pawsburgh shimmers under the canopy of the moonlight, and all the dogs exchange yarns that humans would dismiss as ‘fetching’ fabrications. I navigated towards Harrier Harbor, a place where tales lingered like morning dew, and reflected on the change of heart that enveloped Archie.

As the Pawsburgh Big Bell tolled, signaling the return to our less enchanting world, I sat by the quay, my black and white frame camouflaged against the evening tapestry, and contemplated. The human I knew and tolerated had peeled away like old wallpaper, revealing a heart that shimmered like the harbor waters.

This Scrooge, my sour-faced, penny-pinching human, was now the talk of the town—an icon of generosity. And I, A-Dog his loyal companion, bore witness to this holiday metamorphosis. I’d return to him with a wag and an affectionate nuzzle, for deep inside, I knew Archie’s transformation merited my most jubilant “Awooo!” – a howl most fitting for the spirits of the season and, perhaps, a transformed spirit of a man.

And as I lay beside Archie’s chair later that evening, he stroking my robust frame absentmindedly, I thought of how together we’d witness the morrow, which, as fate would have it, held more marvels than just boxes and veggies, but the very essence of giving itself.

The End.

Share This Story: