Hey, just finished my own little Christmas tale in July. Became a guide-dog for Chip, a lost elf with big dreams and no map. Swapped belly rubs for adventure, squeaky toys for clues, and grumpy solitude for hearty laughs. Found friendship, spirit, and yup, still dodging veggies. Guess I’m Mo, the Bulldog Elf Whisperer now. 🎄🐾

– Mo

Listen to the story here

You’d think a smushy-faced English Bulldog like me, with ears that flap like the banners of Pawsburgh on a breezy day, wouldn’t have much in common with one of Santa’s elves. Especially considering I’m more likely to be caught snoozing under an oak tree than crafting toys. But here’s the thing: when Chip, the elf with the most chaotically optimistic sparkle in his eye, somehow found himself in the big city, tangled in tinsel and hopelessly lost from his North Pole roots, who did he end up with? Mo. That’s who.

Let me set the scene: It’s just me, sprawled out on my side at Onyx Otterhound Oasis, getting my daily belly rubs from one of those fancy robots at The Pawfect Training Center, my stomach churning for my chicken treats, when this elf drops – literally, drops – into Pawsburgh. His landing was less graceful than a cat on ice but his heart? Pure gold.

Now, I’ve never cared much for the festive shindigs of Pawsburgh – Puppy Plate or Dachshund’s Deli, they all seemed like much ado about nothing. I preferred the simplicity of my oak tree and the silent company of Whiskers, the cat with the stoic sunbathing routine. But Chip? He brought chaos wrapped in enthusiasm, clutching his family picture like a lifeline, and well, it was impossible not to be roped into his quest.

“A dog? Really?” he gasped, in that way Mindy Kaling would if she found herself in an unexpected crossover episode with Air Bud. His disbelief was evident, but so was his desperation. Clearly, I was his only hope, and we both knew it.

You see, Chip was on a noble mission to find his family, who apparently lived in one of these anonymous human megastructures. And there I was, the lovable grump, somehow embarking on a Yuletide escapade to help an elf in the middle of the doggone summer!

We took to the bustling streets with as much enthusiasm as one could muster, which in my case was just above narcoleptic. Chip prattled on about elf stuff while I contemplated if the tales of Bloodhound Bluffs held any truth. Could the scents there guide us, I wondered? Then it hit me, as we dodged humans and leapt over pesky green veggies hawked at street corners.

“Chip, my squeaky red ball!” My rather blasé tone didn’t do justice to the brilliant plan forming in my bulldog brain. “When thrown, it leads me back to it, no matter where. Perhaps… in the big city, it could lead us to your family!”

He stared at me like I had just suggested we ditch Christmas for Hanukkah, but with the faith of a child submitting a letter to Santa, he followed my lead.

We retraced steps, bypassed The Woofy Bakery with a strategic detour – a necessary sacrifice given my unspoken soft spot for the smell of bacon pastries – and made our way towards Pawprint Pizzeria, the heart of inter-canine communication. Between mouthfuls of festive flavor combos, we laid out the plan, employing every street-smart Pomeranian and German Shepherd to listen out for the squeaks of my secret favorite toy.

The city, with its unforgiving vastness, seemed less daunting with each playful interaction, each whiff of chicken treats promised for my efforts and, surprisingly, each shared laugh with my new elf buddy.

Spoiler alert: we found them. The family, that is. Not in the North Pole, but in an apartment decked in Christmas lights, in July. And as I watched a once-lost elf find his way back to love and laughter, I realized I had also found something: an unusual friendship, a reminder that even the grumpiest hearts can kindle holiday spirits, and the undeniable truth that I definitely still hated vegetables.

Santa might have his sleigh and reindeer, but me? I’ve got my squeaky red ball. And, for a brief, shiny moment, I had my own Christmas miracle in the form of one very grateful elf. And hey, who knows? With Chip by my side, I just might snag that “Most Lovable Grump” title in the North Pole too. Now, back to my oak tree and the squirrels awaiting my vigilant gaze.

The End.