Hey Mom,

Night turned into a doggone spy movie at Hound Heights! I went from cuddly Gypsy to stealthy guardian, foiling thieves with slippery traps and my own paws of justice. Kept Yappy Holidays safe for everyone! Be proud – your fluffy hero saved the day with his wits and a bit of slobber. 🐾 Catch you on the tail-wag side!

Licks and wags,
Gypsy the Bully-Bodyguard

Listen to the story here

As the first light of dawn creeps into Pawsburgh, my very own hushed town of tail-waggers and bone-buriers, I – Gypsy, by name and gypsy by nature – shuffle on my cushion in Retriever’s Restaurant. I’ve got that feeling again, that low rumble in my belly that isn’t hunger—it’s anticipation. After all, today isn’t an ordinary day; it’s the eve of the Yappy Holidays, and my human’s off on a snow-flecked vacation, leaving yours truly in the velvet paws of Hound Heights kennel.

Hound Heights, ah! Swanky enough to make a Greyhound giddy, but I’m brown Bully through and through—trust me, the irony isn’t lost on me. The place is buzzing with dogs of all provinces discussing their grand plans: a soiree at Pom’s Pies, a relaxation session at Woof and Whisker Wellness Center. But as I’m nestled in my corner, my rotund self packed against the small frame of my luxury kennel suite, I hear the click of the door and the silent whoosh of padding paws. Thieves! Two sleek figures slinking through the festive air—my instincts tell me they’re not here for the eggnog.

“Oh, so you think you can just waltz in here and mess with our Merry Woofmas?” I rumble under my breath, the whites of my paws almost glowing with defiance. I may not have a master plan, just a masterful snout, a pair of eyes sharp as tacks, and a home to defend.

“Okay, Gypsy,” I say to myself, “think fast.”

So here I am, Brown Bully Gypsy, a chubby fellow with legs dwarfed by my enthusiastic belly, navigating the corridors with surprising grace. Pride puffs in my chest, right next to where I bury my love for chicken. It’s that love that drives me now—no one messes with my holiday fillings.

Setting my trap is simple; I’m a creature of comfort and predictability. I’ve trailed enough slobber around this place to know that the marble by the lobby is just the right kind of slippery. However, it’s more than just a trap—it’s a statement. “You picked the wrong night, pals,” I think.

And suddenly, amidst my scheming, my paws betray me; despite my girth, I find myself more agile than anticipated. Before I know it, I’m on a collision course with the intruders. In that moment, my robust voice thunders through the quiet.

“Listen up, you no-good tail-chasers! This is my turf,” I announce, hoping my bark is as convincing as the bite I’m sparing them.

Their eyes widen in alarm as I muster the entirety of my fluff into a semblance of indignation. The thieves stumble backward onto my strategically placed marrow bones and cow hooves. I hear a symphony of yelps as they struggle to regain their footing on the bone-slick floor, and it’s music to my ears.

The ruckus is enough to wake the caretakers, and soon enough, Pawsburgh’s finest are on the scent. Success! The thieves are rounded up with less charm and ease than I handle my chew toys.

As dust settles and calm is restored, I saunter back to my kennel, a victorious waddle in my step. My fellow fur-friends gaze at me with admiration, and I can’t help but smile—no need for language when pride swells in silent interaction.

The night winds down. I think of tomorrow’s tales I’ll wag to my human, but for now, I draw comfort from the canopy of dreams hanging over Pawsburgh. I may be Brown Bully Gypsy – short of leg, vast of heart – but tonight, I’m more. I’m Gypsy, defender of Hound Heights, keeper of Yappy Holiday cheer, and a bonafide hero.

With a satisfied snort and a slow blink, I let the flicker of festive lights lull me to sleep. The kennel is safe, the friends are close, and the spirit of the holidays engulfs us all in a warm embrace.

The End.