Hey Human,

Had the wildest Christmas Eve dream – or did I? Mini-me became my Nutcracker adventure buddy, and we tussled with ghostly hounds under a confectionary sky. I woke up triumphant, full of Yuletide spirit, with magic lingering in the air. Just another night for Spencerville’s secret defender of whimsy and seasoned squirrel-chaser. Wags and woofs,

Freyja 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

The night the snow first settled on Spencerville’s cobblestone streets like a soft white quilt, magic, unbeknownst to my keenest senses, was afoot. It was Christmas Eve, a time when humans harmonized with the hush of snowflakes and the gentle glow of twinkling lights. As for the canine citizens of this near-mythical town, we found our own merriment, mine was curled by the fireside, keeping a watchful eye on the festively adorned room.

There she lay, that clever little number made in my likeness: a plush toy with patches of ebony and ivory, a gift from my guardian in days past. Now, don’t get your tail in a twist, I am no ordinary dog; I’m Freyja, and what I’m about to unfold is a tale so whimsical, you’d think I’d gorged on fermented kibble.

The grandfather clock, as regal as the trees hugging Pug Palace, struck midnight, its chimes vibrating through the air like waves through the Southern Golden Retriever River. That’s when it happened. My toy doppelganger, the one with the stitched smile and button eyes, began to change. Stretching and puffing, it transformed in a sparkly whirl of Christmas magic – Santa’s last act of secret rebellion, perhaps? Before my disbelieving gaze, my mini-me arose, no longer plush and immobile but a princely figure with an inviting paw.

“Lass,” he barked, a voice smooth as the crema on Bone-A-Tempt’s renowned espressos. “Thy splendor has birthed a quest, and I’m thine ever-loyal guide.”

I blinked twice, attributing the sight to my regrettable overindulgence at Pupperoni Pizza. Yet, he stood steadfast, and a tug at my heartstring had me scrambling to my paws, ready to humor the spectacle.

We traveled far, further than East Bulldog Bay, into a world where dreams took the reins. The landscapes bloomed with extraordinary fancies: trees glistening with frosted baubles, mountains chiseled from gingerbread, and rivers that flowed with mulled cider. It was as though someone had funneled all of Spencerville’s charm into a snowglobe and given it a good shake.

My guide, who named himself Nutty (a moniker I found particularly endearing), introduced me to marzipan squirrels, candy cane sticks that fetched themselves, and misfit toys craving adventure. Nutty spoke of a spectral tussle that awaited us, between the forces of mirth and those bedeviled Nutcracker hounds from the outskirts of this wondrous dominion. I must admit, the thought of tangling with such phantasmal creatures did quicken my pulse and garnered a growl I hadn’t used since telling those cucumbers what’s what.

The battles were both bizarre and thrilling, a dance of nimbleness and nerve. Nutty was valiant, I, of course, was supremely more so. With the elegance of Best in Show Photography’s finest model and the tenacity of Southern Golden Retriever Rapids’ strongest swimmer, I fought. It wouldn’t do to toot my own horn too loudly, but dear reader, we triumphed with a flourish.

Dawn’s caress brought closure to the enchantment, the kiss of the Yuletide sun banishing the shapely visions alongside the shadows of night. Nutty reverted to his inanimate form just as the humans began to stir, although his side-glance managed to retain a spark of lively mischief.

What of the truth in this tale, you wonder? Let’s just say, Spencerville shelters many secrets and I, Freyja—chaser of light and devourer of poultry-peanut butter delicacies—embrace the whispers of this miraculous night. As for Nutty, he sits perched under the tree, a silent accomplice to our fantastical caper and a toy dog forever in the grace of Christmas magic.

The End.