Yo, it’s your four-legged friend Conner, aka the Christmas Shepherd of Pawsburgh! 🌟 Last night, I led two lost pups to safety in true holiday hero style. Turns out, the spirit of guidance fits snugly between my paws. We warmed our fur by the fire at Rottweiler’s Ribs until their humans found them, thanks to yours truly. Pawsburgh legend grew a little bigger – and so did my tail wags. Merry Woofmas! 🐾🎄 #PawsburghProtector

Listen to the story here

Ah, Pawsburgh. A place where every pawed tale wagged true and every sniff held a story. I, Conner, a sleek Black Lab with the curious white patch on my chest, had made a name amongst the cobblestone alleys and far beyond.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the maze of streets and squares, there existed an anticipatory calm – a chilly, expectant silence. In my cozy nook with Mrs. Thimble, the scent of mince pies wafting through, I found myself drifting into a nap. Yet the stars, they whispered of adventure, and I felt the familiar tug at my heartstrings. With a stretch and a yawn, I bid goodbye to my warm abode, squeezing through the pet door that led to the world beyond.

Samoyed Square, with its yuletide cheer and holly-draped lamp posts, was the meeting point for all. Maisy, with her golden locks shining under the moonlight, wagged at me from afar. Tomkins, the wiry terrier, sported a Santa hat askew on his head, barking carols in his own particular way.

“I’ve got a feeling that tonight’s the night for legends to be born!” I announced, my voice muffled through the raggedy bear dangling from my jaws. They approved with barks and woofs, and we set off.

The wind howled, sweeping through Spaniel Springs, sending shivers through our coats. It was then I first saw them, the lost travelers: a couple of young puppies, tails tucked, eyes wide, noses sniffing for familiar scents that the snow had erased. They huddled by Doberman Dunes, a place one could easily turn around in circles for hours.

“The Christmas Shepherd must be running late,” Tomkins noted, his breath clouding before him. The Christmas Shepherd, a German Shepherd legend, was said to guide the lost on this particular eve. He was the spirit of guidance, the north star for wayward souls, but nowhere was he to be seen.

Maisy touched her snout to mine. “Perhaps tonight the shepherd is…you, Conner?”

I pondered her words. Could the legend land on a Lab’s shoulder? Could I fill those fabled paws? A flutter inside me, much like when I chased butterflies in Mrs. Thimble’s garden, told me so. With resolve, I approached the shivering pups.

“Lost, are you?” I inquired with a soft whine, prompting them to nod, small tears icicle-ing on their whiskers.

“Well, you’re in Conner’s paws now. Follow me. Pawsburgh will shelter you this Christmas.”

We didn’t go to Barking Brunch, for they were undoubtedly full with the Christmas Eve rush, nor Bark Buffet, for what I planned needed warmth of another kind. Rottweiler’s Ribs, with their open hearth, was the perfect refuge. Along our path, I trotted by The Groom Room, its windows dark, The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium, where the raggedy bear was adopted, and finally, The Wagging Tail Bookstore, its stories nestled among shelves, ready for Christmas morning.

Inside Rottweiler’s Ribs, we found warmth and kind eyes. The place brimmed with smells of smoked meats and the sounds of tails thumping in unison. The little ones thawed as we settled near the fire, and I, taking my role as their temporary Christmas Shepherd, watched over them until their humans arrived, thankful and teary. The pups chattered of their adventure, of the Lab with the star on his chest that guided them on this blessed night.

I didn’t need to speak to tell my tale – my proud wag said it all as we stepped back into the cold, guided by the light of Christmas stars, knowing that in the land of Pawsburgh, every dog had its day, or in my case, its night to embody the Christmas spirit.

The End.