Hey Mom and Dad,

Just wanted to let you know about my latest adventure in Pawsburgh! I got to play the Christmas Shepherd this Eve, guiding a lost pup named Bella to her caroling crew – no sleigh or reindeer needed, just my trusty paws and a big ol’ heart. Tales of my heart and guidance might just outshine my football legends! Hope your spirits are as high as the tail wags here. Merry Christmas!

Love,
Duke 🐾🎄✨

Listen to the story here

Twilight hinted at its presence as a crisp breeze scurried through Chestnut Cocker Courtyard. I, Duke, sat on my haunches, a bemused observer and participant in the wonderment that is Pawsburgh. The sun dipped below Newfoundland Nook, painting the world in a hue of quiet contentment. I knew it was Christmas Eve, not because of the holly-adorned lampposts or garlands looped around the benches, but because my heart felt it—a time when my guidance meant a tail’s wag more than usual.

I heard the faint mishmash of carols emanating from across the pavilions. Collies crooned and hounds hummed, but the melody was always sweeter at Canine Kabobs, with Snout Snacks handing out their seasonal fare. There’s always room for a bit of festiveness, even for we four-legged creatures of routine.

“The truest form of altruism,” I mused, as if Aaron Sorkin himself lent me a sliver of his wit, “is directing another soul home.” I shook off the last remnants of sandy shore dreams as a fine dusting of snow started to fall, the lamplight reflecting off the glistening particles like stardust. My snout twitched, eager to taste the winter’s magic.

And then I saw her, a young Beagle, her patches a contrast against the whites and greys of the evening. She twirled on the corner of Terrier Town, her eyes wide with the undeniable sheen of being utterly lost. I could relate, for once I too was adrift – albeit in a sea of tennis balls and dog parks.

“Excuse me, Miss,” I rambled over in my most gallant bark, a bark that echoed the commanding yet worldly warmth Sorkin’s characters often exude. “Seems to me you’re looking for something more than just Canine Couture’s Christmas sale.”

Her ears perked like antenna searching for a signal. “Oh, good sir, I’m Bella. Am I that transparent? I’m trying to find the carol gathering. My sister is bringing in the bass in ‘Hound Night Holy Night,’ and I’d give all the treats of Canine Couture to find that stage.”

“Then, Bella,” I said, with a wag of my tail for punctuation, “you’ve got yourself a guide.”

We took off like a mistletoe missile down streets strung up with fairy tails of light, weaving through the festivities, past Spa for Paws where spruces sprouted up so some could feel the holiday on their fur.

“I must say, Duke,” she pondered breathlessly, keeping pace as we ventured through the murmuring avenues, “Yours is a reputation that precedes you.”

“Is it the football tales?” I asked, pride puffing up my chest like a well-groomed poodle.

“No,” she huffed, a mirthful twinkle in her step, “it’s your heart.”

That heart skipped a beat as we arrived at the crescendo of yuletide yips. The chorus of canines came into view, and there was no mistaking the bass chords that only a sister’s ears could recognize. I bowed slightly, feeling very much like the Christmas Shepherd sans the crook and woolly coat.

“This is it, Bella. Go sing your heart out,” I encouraged.

“I couldn’t have found it without you,” she whispered, nosing my check affectionately before bounding over to join the chorus.

I watched them, solitary yet far from alone, my soul warmed by the giving of simple guidance. As the snow fell, my thoughts turned homeward, to cuddles and footballs, knowing this was the essence of Christmas in Pawsburgh. For it is said that on snowy evenings like this, the true spirit of a dog shines brightest, guiding the lost and spreading joy, paw step by merry paw step.

In Pawsburgh, story and song carry on long after the echoes fade into the starlit night sky, as the tale of a dog named Duke – your kind-hearted, Christmas-spirited guide – lives on with every re-told adventure. And always, the heart of the tale beats in rhythm with the soft padding of loving paws through freshly fallen snow.

The End.