Hey Mom, 🎄✨

Just wanted to give you a tail-wagging update! Turns out, I’ve been a bit of a Santa Paws around Spencerville, leading the pack on a Christmas adventure of giving rather than receiving. We’ve been sharing joy, treats, and old squeaky toys with the less fortunate doggos. Turns out, the best treat of all is the warm glow of making others happy. Who knew I had it in me?

Merry Christmas!

🎁🐾 Bugs (AKA Rugby) 🐾🎁

Listen to the story here

It was the sort of December morning in Spencerville that glistened, each blade of grass in White Westie Woods tipped with a frosty sparkle, as if Jack Frost himself had been out for an early romp. Rugby—that’s me—was a dog who could appreciate a good frost. It made my white coat seem all the brighter and the world seem a bit more magical. This particular morning held the promise of not just any day, but the Christmas festivities that were the talk of the town, from Greyhound Grove to Choco Chihuahua Castle.

Sherlock and I were strolling down Holly Collar Lane, our breaths puffing out like little steam trains in the chill air. As the dedicated scents procurer of the duo, I was assaulted by the delicious smells wafting out from Sniff ‘n’ Snack.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Sherlock with a wag of my tail.

“If it involves snagging a bit of that grilled chicken, count me in,” Sherlock replied, his beagle nose twitching in agreement.

But the truth of the matter, as I was quickly reminded by a gentle bark from Miss Snuffles, the matronly poodle from The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, was that today was not about our stomachs.

“Remember, Rugby, Christmas is about giving, not receiving,” she said, adjusting her festive scarf as if it were a badge of wisdom.

I nodded, and we continued on with a new purpose. Today was the day I would teach my siblings a lesson in generosity. The truth was, I was feeling more Santa Paws than Rugby the rambunctious setter. But how to impart this lesson without coming off as haughty?

The answer came to me as I passed The Wagging Tail Bookstore, decked out in garlands and shining with holiday cheer. Inspiration struck. I would give them the gift of story—of us.

So I gathered my siblings in the warmth of our abode, a fire blazing, casting flickers of light that danced across their eager faces. And I began a Christmas Tail of our very own.

“There once was a band of dogs, much like us,” I started, feeling a pang of warmth in my chest. “Each year, they anticipated the grand feast of Christmas, where platters of grilled chicken and morsels of cheese awaited. But there was one among them who had little to contribute.”

Their ears perked up, eyes widened with curiosity, as I wove a tale of a small mongrel with a heart bigger than his appetite. A tale of how he offered the only thing he had to give—his time and companionship—making the season brighter for all those around him. Of how he learned that the joy of Christmas didn’t come from what was piled high on your plate, but from the love shared in every wag, every comforting nuzzle.

“In the end,” I said, as my tale came to a close and their gazes softened, “our mongrel friend received the greatest gift of all—appreciation from his family.”

“Is that like the time you gave up the last chew toy for me?” piped up my youngest sibling, eyes glittering almost as much as the snow outside.

“It’s precisely like that,” I confirmed, nodding sagely.

“Maybe this year we can do something for others in Spencerville,” suggested another, a spark of generosity glowing in their voice.

And so it was decided. We ventured out, our pack, spreading cheer, sharing treats from Chow Hound Café, and donating our beloved squeaky toys to those less fortunate. We visited old friends we hadn’t sniffed in ages, and with each stop, the true spirit of Christmas filled the air—inspiring forgiveness for past squabbles and a renewed appreciation for the moments we shared.

By the time the twinkling stars made their debut in the inky sky above us, we returned home, tails wagging not from the exhilaration of the day’s escapades, not for the grilled chicken that awaited (though, let’s be honest, that was a bonus), but for the simple pleasure of knowing that we had given something truly pawsome back to the community that had given us so much.

In the comfort of our home, surrounded by my resplendent siblings, with tinsel hanging haphazardly across the hearth and the soft murmur of Spencerville’s Christmas cheer spilling through the windows, I let out a contented sigh. For all my curiosity and raucous adventures, today I had discovered the irrefutable joy of a day in the life steeped in the true spirit of Christmas.

The End.