Hey Eleanor, just a quick update: Operation Santa Paws was a tail-wagging success! 🎅🐾 Slid down chimneys, dodged kitties, and left a trail of squeaky toys and happy barks across Pawsburgh. Now, curled up dreaming of our Christmas cuddles. Joy: delivered. Love, Dug (a.k.a. Sir Sniffs-a-Lot)

Listen to the story here

As the first flake of snow kissed the ground of Pawsburgh, a much-loved whisper rustled through the fur of every dog – Santa Paws was coming. The feeling was much alike the soft crunch beneath eager paws as they dug into the winter’s first snow, and I, Dug, was no exception to the excitement that fanned over our magical town.

Daylight retreated, leaving soft shadows cast across my nook, my home within this wonderland without leashes. Eleanor was off, surely dreaming of her own festive wonders, as I shook off the contentment of hearth-side slumber to frolic under a starry cloak. Dachshund Dale was draped in yuletide splendor, each cottage twinkling with fairy light warmth that paled only to the light in my eyes.

“Baxter!” I barked with a symphony of enthusiasm, greeting my wise friend, who was already donning a miniature red hat, the kind Santa Paws would tip to a fellow in silent solidarity.

“Well, Dug my boy,” he beamed with eyes twinkling beneath spectacles, “Ready for a night of Christmas capers?” A mystery it was, how he could appear old and wise yet sprightly in winter’s gambol.

Our evening’s adventure began with an almost saunter to Onyx Otterhound Oasis, which, blanketed in snow, seemed like something from a fetching fairytale. There, amidst the merry mayhem, we found Gidget, who, it seemed, was in charge of the gift-giving list. Her enthusiasm possibly rivaling mine.

“We’ve got a lot of pups expecting toys and treats tonight, Dug,” she said, placing a tiny paw against her fluff of a chest. Her command was less about size and more about the enormity of her heart, and right then, it was set on holiday cheer for all.

As tradition dictated, it was my honor – given my cheery disposition and Eleanor’s fond affection for the Christmas spirit – to don the velvety red suit and assume the role of Santa Paws. The mission was simple: spread joy and embrace the essence of giving.

But goodness, how do you teach an old dog new tricks? While the whimsical winds of Pawsburgh offered no answer, Baxter, with his knowing smile, and Gidget, with her meticulous list, assured me the Yuletide mysteries were mine to unravel.

A leap of faith and I was off, with gifts from The Barking Boutique and Fetch! Toys and Treats, my heart buoyant in the sea of starry lights. Past Malamute Mountain, down Fluttering Firefly Forest, the bobs and weaves natural as the laughs Eleanor and I shared back home.

“Ho-ho-ho!” A chuckle escaped my maw, and if I do say so myself, a rather Santaesque bellow it was. The journey became about more than the gifts nestled in my sack; it was about capturing that cozy sense of belonging Eleanor always wrapped around me, delivering it to every door.

Every porch greeted me with expectant eyes and wagging tails. Into the velvet night I trotted, leaving behind toys that squeaked lovesongs and treats that would make even my abhorred lemons jealous.

Once my task was done, the magic of Pawsburgh ushered me homeward, to the old willow where Whiskers awaited, her green eyes blinking slow approval.

“Bit of a different night, eh?” Her feline tone straddled affection and aloof charm, like the clap oh-so quiet of paws upon fresh snow.

“Yes, Whiskers,” I agreed. “But with the same warmth of a thousand firesides.”

Sans suit, I returned to my sun-dappled nook and dreamt of tails tales-twining under the Christmas moon, a day lived rich in the life of a Santa Paws.

Pawsburgh slumbered, tummies full and hearts filled, and there was I—caught between two worlds, content in the knowledge that joy, indeed, had been spread.

The End.

Share This Story: