Hey Mom,

Just helped a down-and-out elf find his family in the big city, playing Yuletide matchmaker with some true North Pole flair! Picture me, Lucy-Lou, gourmet cracker connoisseur turned Christmas miracle worker. Spreading cheer on four paws—bark my words, it’s tail-wagging good stuff. 🎄🐾✨

Love,
Lucy-Lou

Listen to the story here

Every once in a bell’s jingle, life up here in the great snowy forever somersaults into something out of a snow globe—you know, the kind where the entire scene inside is a perfect snapshot of something wonderful? That’s what happened when I, Lucy, trotted straight out of Spencerville and right into a Yuletide bonanza.

So there I am, bounding through the sparkling white expanse of the great North Pole—unmistakable Boxer prance, flopping ears catching the icy breeze like sails—when I catch a peculiar scent. Peppermint and pine, the fluffy aftermath of hot cocoa dusting my whiskers, and I know it’s no ordinary day.

Not your everyday walk in the park. Which we’ve got, by the way, in Spencerville. Whole stretches of them.

But no, this is about an elf—a real-life, bell-on-the-toes, red-velvet-frock-coat elf. He’s slumped on the corner of Evergreen Avenue and Mistletoe Lane, head in hands, a picture of North Pole despair if ever I’ve seen one. And I’ve seen it, because I’m me, and noticing is what I do—along with making friends and the occasional Ritz cracker demolishing. That’s right, I’ve got a nose for stories and sorrow, and this elf, he’s got both.

“Trouble on the to-do list, friend?” I woof, nonchalant as you like.

He blinks at me—long lashes—and murmurs something about a lost touch, forgotten warmth, some intangible something or other that made the gingerbread houses taste sweet and the eggnog taste creamy.

“Family,” I venture a guess, because who knows better than a Spencerville pup the ache of absence, the bittersweet wait to be decked in reunion’s embrace?

He nods, this small creature made for jolliness, looking decidedly less jolly, and I can’t help but feel the pull to help—because, let’s face it, a Boxer with a heart the size of mine isn’t about to let a Christmas crisis go unsolved.

Now, fast forward through the blizzard of plans and the flurry of ideas—because, if there’s one thing I’m good at besides scarfing down savory snacks, it’s plotting adventures—and there we are aboard the Polar Expressway. No, not the train; it’s what I call the cart I chartered, hitched to the most cooperative of reindeer.

Downtown. Big city. People as numerous as snowflakes. And I tell you, it’s something seeing a North Pole elf step into the hustle. Magic and mortar don’t normally mix, but sometimes, they need to.

We’re on a quest, see, weaving through the torrent of humanity like salmon upstream—me with my calm yet assertive canine confidence, and my elf companion clinging to the bells on his toes like lifelines—a juxtaposition of jubilation and stark reality.

Lights. Trees. Tinsel that gets in your fur. But also…

Hope. Family. The human kind of joy that’s loud and brash and smells like roasting chestnuts and sounds like carols.

I guide him—my elf, not quite lost, not quite found—through throngs and past thresholds, until, at last, we halt before an old building, more stories than the tallest pine back home, with a door that sings on its hinges of reunions and embraces.

And there it is. The moment. The threshold where magic meets mundane, elves meet families, and Boxer dogs like me can pause, tongue lolling, tail wagging at this thing we’ve achieved.

Because look at him now, my elf, knuckles white against the brass of a door knocker—a heartbeat away from home. And when the door opens and the love spills out like sunlight, I know my work here is done.

Later, I’ll be back in Spencerville, surrounded by the love of my own. I’ll trot along Retriever River, snuffle through Greyhound Grove, daydream at South Poodle Pond, and maybe stop by Bark ‘n’ Roll for doggie treats.

For now, I’ll sit. Watch. Witness this Christmas magic from the first row, the best seat in the house.

And then, when the time’s just right, I’ll nudge him forward with my nose—go on, elf, your family awaits.

That’s my story, and it’s a doggone good one, if I do say so myself.

The End.