Hey Mom,

Turns out I’m the drum-strutting holiday hero of Pawsburgh! Who knew all it took to make friends was a snare drum and a sloppy beat? Brought a whole new rhythm to town and even got the Shepherd’s tail wagging. Maybe I’m cut out for this festive stuff after all. More tail wags to come!

Hugs and face licks,
Chapo 🥁🐾

Listen to the story here

The last time I checked the calendar hanging by my water bowl, it was festooned with the word “December,” each letter adorned with little bells and holly. There is no rest for the festive, especially not in Pawsburgh, the hidden gem of the canine world.

I’ve never been one for the holidays, you see. All the tinsel in the world can’t outshine a good ball chase. But I’m Chapo, the bulldog-terrier with the brindle patchwork that makes me look like a map of Pawsburgh itself. And this year, I found myself humming the tune of a holiday I couldn’t quite shake.

Here in Pawsburgh, festive pawsteps echoed through the cobblestone streets, and the air smelt like Poodle’s Pasta mixed with a hint of cinnamon—ah, the dizzying combination. I took my usual gallivant down Whippet Way, a street that curves just like the dogs it gets its name from, carrying my modest snare drum strapped to my side. My friends convinced me that I had a certain cadence, a rhythm in my stroll that could only be accentuated by the rat-a-tat-taping of a drum.

I passed by The Groom Room, where a sprightly collie was having her fur primped into snowflakes; they fluttered in the breeze when she wagged her tail, which was often. With a jovial wag of my own stubby tail, I continued, tapping a simple beat that seemed to put a little extra jingle in the steps of my fellow dogs. I was off tune, slightly offbeat, but what I lacked in musical finesse, I made up for in charm.

I’m not sunshine in a fur coat—my preferences for human companionship gave me the reputation of a loner—so music became my bridge to others. As I approached Blue Basenji Bay, I honeyed up the rhythm. There, a hesitant Lhasa Apso tossed me a shy glance—it’s not every day you hear a drummer pursue harmony with the lapping waves.

When I arrived at Cocker Courtyard, the heart of holiday cheer and the meeting point of all my acquaintances, I had an epiphany. Here, among the twinkle-light trees and the merry Beagles belting carols, my simple drum was my gift to Pawsburgh.

At Hound’s Hotdogs, I watched a Dachshund savor a wurst, his eyes widening as I beat the drum. The flinch of his mustard-streaked whiskers danced to my improvisational piece, ‘The Ballad of the Brindle Bully.’

At Pooch’s Pub, I lingered in the doorway, thinking of the warmth inside. While I never had a taste for eggnog or mulled cider, the camaraderie that clung to the frosted windows was enough to draw me near.

A German Shepherd, one of my more tepid friends, cocked his head. “What’s with the drum, Chapo?” he barked with a sneer that was affectionate for him, I suppose.

“To spread cheer,” I replied, summoning the cool wit of someone else’s chewed slipper. With a roll and a tap, I played a silent night that wasn’t so silent.

As twilight descended, the twinkling constellation of holiday lights in Pawsburgh grew brighter, mirroring the stars above we canines rarely stop to sniff at. I drummed my path back home, matching my gait to the staccato of snowflakes that decided to grace us, creating nature’s own percussion.

In this modest tale, any dog with a drum can be a drummer pup, and any drum can sing a song of connection. In Pawsburgh, merry tales are penned daily, but for me, Chapo, today was a symphony—a paw-crafted overture to belonging in a world magically my own.

The End.