Hey partner,

Holidays in Pawsburgh are a hoot and I’ve got a tale to wag! Went from lone wolf to party pooch at The Doggie Daycare. Met Duke & Daisy, gave into the chicken at Mastiff’s Meals and found some pack vibes I never knew I needed. Who would’ve thought ol’ Loki would get hooked on holiday cheer? Tail’s wagging here!

Catch you on the barking side,
Loki 🐾

Listen to the story here

I should have seen it coming, the glittering lights of Setter Shore blinking in the distance like the flashing of a lighthouse for wandering souls, had I any inclination towards the nautical, which, admittedly, I didn’t. My name is Loki, as you well know, and while my existence may shimmer with the mystery of the Norse, I found myself curiously drawn to the festive aura enveloping Pawsburgh as the holidays capered closer.

Under the cover of twilight’s embrace, and with my humans sufficiently distracted by their own seasonal shenanigans, I made a rather quiet exodus to my covert seasonal sojourn – a cozy, if not slightly drafty, countryside cottage within howling distance of Weimaraner Woods.

This evening was unlike any other, and I was wrapped in the kind of eager anticipation that might accompany a maiden voyage to the moon, or, more accurately, the unearthing of a buried hambone. The town was alive, you see, with a festive frolic that only Pawsburgh could sustain. Indeed, Bichon Boulevard was bedecked with garlands as puppies played tug-of-war with strands of tinsel, and the air was as crisp as the fresh kibble placed at the Puppy Plate.

With my fur bristling against the chill, I trotted purposefully towards The Doggie Daycare, which had been transformed into an impromptu social hall for my fellow canines to exchange glad tidings and wagging tails. I hesitated at the door, a contemplative paw suspended mid-air.

You see, I have always walked a solitary path, a wanderer amongst the tapestry of Pawsburgh society. My friends knew me as the shepherd with a touch of the wild wolf, the noble hermit with a mischievous glint in his eyes that matched the striking dark brindle of my coat. And yet, the pull of holiday cheer is stronger than the most convincing game of fetch.

“I say, Loki, you’re looking more dapper than an illustration in The Tail Wagger’s Tailor’s catalog!” boomed a voice. It was Duke, with that boundless energy reserved for Jack Russells and festive occasions alike.

“Fancy a romp through the Weimaraner Woods, or have the holiday scents of Mastiff’s Meals lured you in with their foul play?” Duke inquired with a tilt of his head.

Ah, the romance of a well-prepared chicken dish, my very Achilles’ heel, although you’d never find an Achilles here, more like a Pawchilles, perhaps. I could detect the wafting aroma beckoning. “I think a romp can wait. Let the feasting begin,” I replied, my wagging tail betraying my attempted aloof demeanor.

We wove through the bustling crowd: the splashy spaniels, the dignified Danes, and, of course, Daisy – a vision of sagely softness with her droopy eyes, who seemed to absorb the joy around her and magnify it back like the most precious gemstone.

Our feast was, in a word, sublime. Once sated, I felt an unexpected warmth that even my thick fur and semi-wild disposition couldn’t fend off. Surrounded by the romp and revelry of new companions amidst Pawsburgh’s magical aura, I reconsidered my solitary ways.

As the night deepened, our howls harmonized with the jingle of distant sleigh bells, and Duke burrowed under the crook of my legs. Daisy curled next to me, a blooming warmth within the cool holiday air. Maybe, just maybe, this lone Loki found the beginning of his very own pack, an unexpected twist in this tail waggingly peculiar tale.

The End.

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