Heya hooman BFF! 🐾 Just wrapped up another tail-waggin’ day in Pawsburgh. Picture this: I pretended to trip at the Doberman Dunes Dash so Luna & Shadow could win – sometimes being top dog ain’t the prize. Ended the day with belly rubs and BBQ, cause let’s be honest, it’s all about the snacks and snuggles. Remember, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog! Catch you on the flip side for more adventures. ✨🎄 – Trei’ the Trickster

Listen to the story here

Let’s face it, the sunsets on Sapphire Schnauzer Street had nothing on those late afternoon beams on Earth, but Pawsburgh carried its own charm, especially during the Christmas season when every furball’s heart grew three sizes—give or take a size for seasonal allergies.

As I moseyed down Whippet Way, my coat catching the glistening snowflakes, I reminisced about the human family that had scratched behind my ears with the kind of love that could turn a growl into a purr—if I were into that sort of thing, which I am resolutely not. My thoughts were interrupted by the yips and yelps of my friends, the motley crew embracing the spirit of the season in their own peculiar ways.

Shadow, ever the spry one, attempted to organize a rendition of “Bark the Herald Angels Sing,” but with soprano howls clashing with bass growls, the result was more cacophony than caroling. Luna, the peacekeeper, watched from afar, laughter twinkling in her eyes at the discordant symphony. And, surprise, surprise, there was Whiskers at the periphery, feigning disinterest yet edging closer, lured in by our doggone Christmas cheer.

“Hey, Trei’, about time you showed up,” Shadow barked, his tail a wagging metronome. “We were just about to start the great Doberman Dunes Dash.”

“Oh, an annual race to commemorate forgiveness and generosity? That’s, uh, unconventional,” I quipped, my eyes squinting with skepticism. These theatrical recreations of emotional milestones were all a little too sense-and-sensibility for a shepherd like me.

The plan was simple: race to the top of Doberman Dunes, retrieve a special toy, and the winner would distribute gifts from The Woofy Bakery to the rest. A spurt of exercise followed by pastries—what’s not to love? The wind was our starter’s pistol, and off we bolted, paws versus sand in an orchestration of chaos as if choreographed by an overcaffeinated squirrel.

Halfway up, Shadow’s legs tangled in a fit of overeagerness, and Luna paused, turning back with a soft nudge to help him regain his footing. I had the lead, a proud prance in my step, when a thought struck me with the abruptness of discovering an upturned tack with a tender paw.

This whole spectacle wasn’t about winning, it was about the joy of giving, the panting laughter of camaraderie, and maybe—just maybe—letting Whiskers win a round without rubbing it in his fluffy, non-canine face.

With a well-timed stumble, I skidded, allowing Luna and Shadow to streak past me, leaving me in a snowy plume of self-imposed defeat. From my vantage point, I watched as Luna crossed the pinnacle with Shadow at her heels, both heroes of the hill.

The rest of the evening was spent at Barking BBQ, cheers and tail-wags shared over hearty kibble and succulent strips of jerked meats. Shadow shared exaggerated tales of his near victory, Luna radiated a quiet satisfaction, and I silently vowed to let Whiskers win at Frisbee tomorrow—provided no one was watching, naturally.

As the cold nose of night touched our warm hideaway, it was time to sneak back to our Earth families, tales of Pawsburgh adventures ready to spill like overfilled water bowls. I carried with me the savvy wink of a dog who knew how a fractured sprint could fold into the beauty of a shared feast—and the knowledge that even the schmaltziest of lessons were worth learning if they warmed your belly like a sunny porch in the golden hours.

The End.