Hey hooman! 🐾 Just wrapped up the Pawsburgh’s Twelve Dogs of Christmas. 🎄 I was the pawsome princess of holiday cheer, rocking a chic velvet collar, digging up treasures, and leading the pack in style! Singing, feasting, and dashing through the snow—we did it all. Can’t wait to share every tail-wagging tale with you! 🎁❄️Warm cuddles soon,
Cookie 🍪✨

Listen to the story here

December’s crisp air was whisking through Pawsburgh, rustling the last stubborn leaves clinging to the trees around Samoyed Square. I, Cookie, trotted briskly down Bichon Boulevard, my heart beating with the rhythm of jingle bells anticipating the first day of the Twelve Dogs of Christmas.

“It’s finally here,” I thought, my paws barely touching the ground as I rushed towards The Tail Wagger’s Tailor, my destination. I’m not fond of garments, but for the holiday spree, I was to be fitted for a red velvet collar, stitched with care by the finest tailor in town.

The tailor, a hulking Great Dane with a delicate touch, measured my neck, “Cookie, my dear, you carry the mirth of Christmas effortlessly!” he boomed.

On Day Two, I found myself at Pawfect Pastries, salivating over the scent of freshly baked dog biscuits. “One for now, and a dozen for the festivities,” I panted, muzzling my way through pups lingering by counters, sorting out who’s been naughty or nice.

Day Three arrived, and I was darting through Bloodhound Bluffs with an energy that could light up the northern sky—today was the Treasure Hunt Bonanza. I dug up the seventh gift, a juicy bone hidden beneath the snow-dusted park. “Later, this will be a silent night, with all that chewing,” I mused, a glisten of slobber painting my chin.

The fourth day brought a choir. We howled and barked carols through Retriever’s Restaurant, patrons wagging in approval. I never knew my voice could meld in such angelic harmony, and yet here I was, hitting notes that would’ve made the cats jealous.

On Day Five, strutting along, an excitement bubbled in me, for the Blind Fetch Challenge awaited at Samoyed Square. A toss, a sprint, a leap—and there I was, gripping the prize with more assurance than the morning sun.

Day Six danced in with a gift exchange at Collie’s Cuisine. I unearthed a plush toy from the pile. It squeaked, I shook it—that was love at first bite.

Day Seven, and the snow was perfect for snowdog building. Around, pooches of all sizes rolled and patted, their sculptures standing proudly, though none as jaunty as my cheeseburger-inspired masterpiece—my tribute to a year-round craving.

The eighth day saw me at Happy Hounds Dog Walking, leading a pack adorned in reindeer antlers. We pranced through the town, delighting pups watching from their frosty windows.

On Day Nine, snowflakes dusting my nose, I attended The Fetching Feline Pet Emporium’s fashion show, displaying the latest in canine winter wear. While I watched with admiration, I thought, “That’s too much fur for me.”

The tenth day’s surprise was the Pawsburgh potluck. Devoured my share, I did. The plates were licked clean before anyone could say, “Doggy bag.”

Day Eleven’s event was skijoring through the luminescent night of Bloodhound Bluffs. I whizzed by pines heavy with snow, stars cheering from above—a flurry of excitement and peace.

Finally, Day Twelve: Christmas Eve. Our wagging procession trod to the grand tree lighting. Dogs of every breed circled the glow, barks and yips crescendoing as the tree blazed to life, crowning Pawsburgh with holiday delight.

In the end, we nestled together under that magnificent tree, tales of our Twelve Dogs of Christmas escapades intertwining. The spirit of the season glimmered within each of us, shining as brilliantly as my new velvet collar. And when I return to my human—head cocked in that way they find so charming—I’ll recount every frolic, every friendship spun within these few magical days. Pawsburgh wrapped in Christmas, and me, Cookie, right in the warm heart of it all.

The End.