Hey Mom,

In true holiday spirit, I played peacemaker in a doggy drama over a frisbee at Spencerville. Reminded everyone Christmas is for forgiveness and love, not grudges. Ended up bringing the pack together for a festive howl-iday filled with tail-waggin’ and yule-tide cheer! 🎄✨ Home now, chewin’ on the satisfaction of a peaceful Christmas. You taught me well. 🐾

Hugs and licks,
Ace

Listen to the story here

It was the kind of morning where even the sun seemed to be stretching and yawning above Spencerville’s skyline, tickling the frosted tips of the Dalmatian Desert with its lazy rays. It’s Christmas here too, if you can believe it, and as I, Ace, a yellow Labrador with an unfathomable appreciation for the finer things—like squeaky toys and the delicate aroma of peanut butter on a crisp morning—I found myself entangled in the twinkling chaos of the season.

“Good heavens,” I muttered, watching Caffrey, the beloved sibling whose sense of adventure mirrored my own, tear through the wrapping paper with the finesse of a raccoon in a bin of leftovers. We had gathered around a pine tree that looked as though it had been dressed by a committee of colorblind elves; a festive assembly in The Barking Boutique’s window display.

Christmas in Spencerville had its perks, and we reveled in the pause from heavenly hijinks to indulge in pet-friendly eggnog and sugar-free gingerbread. But this year, it wasn’t just about the over-indulgence in Fishy Bites’ seasonal snacks or the flirtatious flurries that coated Poodle Pond in a glinting sheet of ice. There was talk, whispers on the winds that tousled the fur of every mutt and pedigree, about the essence of the holiday—forgiveness, generosity, and the sort of spirit you couldn’t just dig up from the backyard.

You see, I’d always been the understanding sort, priding myself on a forgiving heart that matched the radiance of my coat. But this Christmas, there were bones to pick that had nothing to do with the leftovers from Ruff-n-Ready’s holiday feast. In the dust of the Yellow Tan Dalmatian Desert, a schism had formed among friends, a rift in the canine camaraderie that no amount of tail wagging seemed to fix.

It all started with a frisbee—the Cadillac of frisbees, mind you, sleek and aerodynamic, that glided through the air like a hawk with a purpose. It had been the cause of a spectacular tumble, a misunderstanding that turned growls into grudges. Before we knew it, friends were choosing sides, like determining which was better: the crunchy or the creamy part of a peanut butter cup.

I recall staring out at the tousled aftermath of the desert, contemplating. “This won’t do,” I thought. “We’re better than this, mishaps and all.”

Taking hold of the frisbee, with a peace-offering trot, I approached the center of our impromptu arena. “Friends,” I barked, with that inherent calmness that had always served me when negotiating for an extra morsel of cheese, “this is not who we are.”

I spoke of the times we had shared, from sopping mishaps post-bath escape attempts to those twilight cuddles that healed the heart’s invisible ills. Today was not a day for sullen sniffs and curled-lip mumbles. Today, I decreed, we’d embody the Spirit of Christmas, the one our humans held so dear. It involved forgiveness for pilfered treats and generosity that didn’t keep count of the times the ball was fetched.

With a crowd of wagging tails, inclinations softened, and the desert air filled with the sounds of reconciliation. We returned to our celebration, the frisbee forgotten as we exchanged sloppy, affirming licks and a commitment to the true spirit that Christmas cradled in its generous lap.

From Caffrey to the countless unnamed paws that padded through this blessed town, our spirits soared higher than any desert dust devil. We danced through the twilight of Christmas, knowing in our benevolent hearts that true joy came not from the frisbees we chased, but from the love we unleashed.

In the end, the tale of this Christmas was etched into Spencerville’s fabled history—a tail of compassion woven with threads of joy and swaddled in the warmth of kindred souls awaiting the ultimate reunion. As I lay curled by the fire, the bone of contentment resting gently between my paws, I knew that this was what it meant to be truly home, even in a place as mystically canine as Spencerville.

The End.