Hey, it’s Brin! 🐾✨ Just had to tell you about our epic night. Dreams chased us, squirrels turned into princes, and we munched on glorious Snout Snacks. The air’s been spun with Yuletide magic, and we’ve been sprinkled with a spirit of adventure. Pawsburg never sleeps on a story, right? 🏰🎄 Catch you on the flip side of the doggy dream. Night! 🌙 #TailWagsBrin

Listen to the story here

We’d had quite the whirl of a day, Maximus, Tinker, and I, at the oft-sung Saluki Sands – which contrary to popular belief among humans, is not a desert for slow mail, but a golden stretch where dreams chase you back. But there’s a tale unwinding, you see, and we’re all nestled in my cozy burrow at Newfoundland Nook. My human’s abode, being sans any expression of life beyond a Puritan tick-tock timekeeper on this Christmas Eve, had compelled me to invite my own little herd to the magic that Pawsburg tucks under its slobbering tongue.

You know me, I’m Brinley, the toast of the town with my dawn-threaded coat. As the clock struck a sultry twelve, my long, tapering paws twitched. There’s a sparkle; and then, it’s not quite what I expect. The squeaky squirrel, my lifelong nemesis and confidante, squirms in its woeful nest under the tree. Eyes I’ve rendered blind with love stare back like coal on a snowman’s face. But lo, a glint. A change. And poof!

Indeed, a poof. A remarkable sort of thing. For the squeaky squirrel is now none other than a prince, nattily attired and gracious. His eyes spark like the finest kibble under the noon sun. So there’s a sort of truth in the matter, if you follow, the way that light from the tree shifts around him.

My chums look on, Maximus with a dumbfounded lope to his jaw, Tinker bell-chiming an astonished little yap.

“Well, I’ll be a cat’s pajamas,” I utter, though I’d never be caught in feline sleepwear, and we’re off, following the princely former squirrel.

Through Barker’s Bakery, past the aromatic loaves that dance like sugar plums, we trot on. The air tastes of grain and glory. Shar-Pei Shores next, a place yapping with the effervescent laughter of distant barks. And does the squirrel prince dance! A pirouette here, a frolic there, whiskers trembling with the froth of excitement. Our pause is but brief; adventure has us by the collars.

Then, oh then, to the spectacular Snout Snacks, where the finest cuisine – yes, even that coveted boiled chicken I do adore without reservation – sits in silver bowls. And not a citrus peel to offend my nostrils, bless their magical hearts. How the world can turn, and turn it does, on the spindle of newfound princeliness.

Finally, The Pampered Pooch Salon, where I’ve oft dreamed of lounging. Now, draped in ribbons of fantastical lights, it welcomes us, our prince leading with a wag that tells of stories older than barks.

We spin and bark and chew on the delights of what might as well be a dream. Maximus, in his giant-hearted wisdom, rumbles low, “T’is a good night to be a pup.” Tinker skates over the tiles, nimble as fairy’s flight.

Dare I say, Maximus, Tinker, and I – we’ve been remade, not in flesh, but in spirit, transformed by the delightful whiff of Yuletide. And oh, I mustn’t forget to sing a howl for the princely squirrel who sits, attentive to our jubilation.

Yes, Pawsburg, we make our tales and keep them too, wrapped in the silken threads of camaraderie that glisten like my coat in the sun.

As the enchantment wanes and my princely toy becomes again just that, a toy – our hearts remain aflutter. We sneak back, our night’s escapade printed on our beings as I close my eyes in my human’s quiet house, a smirk drawing on my snout.

Tomorrow, the world awakes. The humans will never know the magic. But we, the dogs of Pawsburg, we will remember. Always.

The End.