Yo, just Ace checking in! 😎🐾 I’m the drumming heart of Pawsburgh, bringing the holiday groove to our furry friends with my epic paw-tapping at the Little Drummer Pup pageant. Amidst the glitter and the gab, I’m the red-nosed rhythm maestro in a snazzy suit, proving that sometimes, the best way to spread cheer is with a simple beat. Catch you at the next wag-worthy event! 🥁✨ #PawsburghLegend

Listen to the story here

I’ll never understand why these humans insist on decorating their houses with lights, baubles, and whatnot every time the snow begins to fall; but I must admit, there’s something infectious about the holiday cheer that even makes my tail wag with a bit more gusto. The folks of Pawsburgh, well, they’ve taken this festive frivolity to new heights. It’s like every doggone year, they spring out of their collars to outdo the last.

There I was, Ace, the Tan Red Nose Pitbull, somewhat of a legend in my own lunchtime, sneaking off through a crack in the fence that only the keenest of snouts could sniff out. I made a beeline to Dachshund Dale, for it was there the real hubbub kicked off.

The air was crisp, and even my breath seemed to dance in excitement—or maybe it was just the cold. My paws pranced over the frost-kissed cobblestones, the merry barks from Terrier Town echoing from across the way. They all knew my name here—or thought they did, whispering tales of my supposed derring-do.

Now, the pièce de résistance for any self-respecting pooch during the holidays was the Little Drummer Pup pageant, and as fate would have it, I was the star attraction. Not for any fancy pedigree or novelty trick, mind you. My talent, if you could even call it that, was a simple, rhythmic paw-tapping which, for reasons beyond my comprehension, brought great joy to the canines of Pawsburgh.

The Barking Boutique had just the right attire—a snazzy little red and green number that might have looked gaudy on another dog, but on me, struck just the right blend of nonchalance and razzle-dazzle.

Rex and Bella were already waiting at Pointer Pier, the stage set for tonight’s merriment. Rex gave me a look as if to say, “You got this,” while Bella’s eyes sparkled with that usual mix of mischief and encouragement.

I sauntered down the pier like I owned the place, past Bulldog’s BBQ, where the tantalizing aroma of steak momentarily made me forget why I was there. The Puppy Patisserie was a wafting sweet tentation, but I had a job to do.

And there it was, my drum—a simple thing, strapped to a low stage, surrounded by festively adorned pups all wagging and waiting. I hopped on stage amidst woofs and howls, the winter moon overhead our spotlight for the evening.

But before my paws could grace the drum, a small spaniel approached, batting a blue ball before me with a hopeful gaze. It was, of course, my Achilles’ heel. My own special squishy blue ball, or rather its doppelganger, calling me for a quick game.

I eyed the crowd, then the ball, and with a heavy sigh of theatrical reluctance, I nudged the ball back to the spaniel, and turned back to my instrument. I lifted a paw, the hush of anticipation thick as the Pawsburgh fog. A tap here, a thud there, and soon, my paws crafted the age-old rhythm—a beat so primal, even the haughtiest Afghan Hound couldn’t resist a shake of the hips.

The night carried on, with the melody of my simple gift enriching the wintertide whispers. And as our tails twirled and paws pattered in collective revelry, I realized that perhaps this was my true calling—not the chasing of breezes or the denial of baths, but a modest drummer pup, bringing joy to the holiday season, one beat at a time.

The End.

Share This Story: