Hey there, pack leader!

It’s me, Lexi, Pawsburgh’s adventure-loving lab! Just wanted to give you a tail-wagging update: I’ve been wagging through town spreading cheer, trading licks for chicken n’ rice treats, and reveling in the true spirit of Christmas with all my fur-iends. It’s not just about the chewable ornaments, but the joy & love we share in our tight-knit pack. Stay pawsome and get ready for a howling good Christmas tale!

Wags & woofs,
Lexi 🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

Even in Pawsburgh, where every snout quivers with the secrets of its own stories, Christmas spirit sprinkles a little extra magic. The tinsel-twinkling trees with their doggie-friendly ornaments (that’s just fancy human-speak for chewable delights) are evidence enough. And I, Lexi, the lab with the spirit of an eternal puppy, was ready to bask in the yuletide glow.

On this particular frost-frilled morning, under the ombre sky that Mother Nature had clearly spent time on, my paws itched for some pre-Christmas antics. I trotted down Papillon Promenade, my white-blazed chest puffing out like the grandest ship’s sail. And mind you, it wasn’t vanity; it was the anticipation of holiday shenanigans.

My first stop? The Pawsome Pet Pharmacy, where The Storm—you may know him as Mr. Davies, the local butcher—had promised a secret stash of chicken and rice balls for our little soirée. And truly, if love had a taste, it’d be wrapped up in those savory surprises. As I entered, a tiny bell jingled above my head, announcing my grand entrance or, as I saw it, sounding the fanfare for my noble quest.

“Lexi, you maverick!” Mr. Davies boomed, his St. Bernard-jowls lifting in what passed for a human smile. I may not have had a reply in words, but my wagging tail was a sentence unto itself.

Skipping ahead a few charming interactions—where my adorability scored extra meatballs, by the way—I made for Samoyed Square. The place was donned in festive décor, streamers danced in the wind like…well, like something people would say dances in the wind. Very poetic.

The square was buzzing with my pals; Max was hot on the tail of some Christmas caper, nose to ground, while Bella cavorted with old Tucker, sharing some laughs over Jingle-Bone jokes Tucker swore he hadn’t used last year.

I mingled, nose-bumped, and even threw in an artfully timed bark, just as an ode to Bella’s vocal talents.

Before we all knew it, the sun had begun its descent, tucking itself behind Pawsburgh’s snow-tipped horizon—think, huge, fluffy pillows, but way cooler. And then, as if cued by some invisible director, we ambled towards Pooch’s Pub, the unofficial meeting spot for any dog with tales to swap and an appetite.

The warmth that greeted us was twofold: the embrace of the hearth and the company. You know, like in those holiday movies humans watch, where everyone sort of glows, and someone’s probably going to learn the true meaning of Christmas?

Tails wagged like metronomes set to the beat of happiness as stories of the day’s adventures circled the room. I was right in the thick of it, sitting snug as a bug in a rug that was conveniently situated near the roast.

Love shone in every gleaming eye and toothy smile. It was then, my little heart full, that I realized Christmas isn’t just about the treats or the new bandana (although they’re great, don’t get me wrong). It’s about these moments when our collars feel a little snugger from all the love packed in there.

As Pawsburgh’s twinkle-lit night pulled its cozy blanket over us, I leaned into the holiday hum, my canine comrades by my side, and whispered to the stars the only three words needed:

“Happy Howlidays, Pawsburgh.”

The End.