Hey Mom, just a quick update! I, Stitch the Yuletide Beagle, hitched a ride on the Polar Pooch Express for a howling good adventure to the North Pole! 🐾🚂 Found the true spirit of Christmas isn’t just the destination, but the shared laughs and tail wags along the way. Think of it as a merry-go-round of joy and doggy camaraderie under the northern lights! Missing you and sending lots of puppy love! 🐶♥️✨ – Stitchy

Listen to the story here

Ah, where did we last leave off? Oh yes, in the grand town of Spencerville, my beloved stomping ground, the plush utopia for the dearly departed in the canine realm. As always, your premier Beagle guide, Stitch, at your service, gearing up to embark on a festive caper—a Yuletide jaunt packed with the charms and chills of winter’s embrace.

Cross my heart and hope for treats, but have I got a tail-wagging tale for you, dear companions of yore. Well, it was the eve of Christmas, and the twinkling lights of Spencerville cast a bit of holiday magic where the air crinkled with excitement, and even the stars seemed to hum carols.

Mind you, it wasn’t just any Christmas eve—this was the night of the Polar Pooch Express, a fabled train that spirited away canines to the snowy whimsy of the North Pole. In fact, it was all Soco could bark about for weeks. “You’ll never believe your snout when you see it, mate!” I recall Soco yapping, with that charming glint in his eye decrying adventure was afoot. And who was I to resist?

Ambling through the wondrous streets, after politely declining a cookie from the Woofy Bakery (a platonic love affair between my palate and sweet dough), I arrived at the Howling Husky Hardware Store. Ah, the Hardware Store—the last hub before one’s whiskers freeze in the winter wonderland.

“Ticket, Sir Stitch?” cooed the whippet behind the counter, bundled in a scarf.

I flashed my charming beagle grin. “Wouldn’t miss it for all the biscuits in Greyhound Grove.”

Clambering aboard the Polar Pooch Express, decked in garlands and bells, I wedged into a bench next to a particularly fluffy Samoyed who smelled faintly of pine needles and The Pampered Pooch Salon’s seasonal cologne. A whistle pierced the air, we were off, steam puffing like hot breath against the glass, wheels lulling us into a hushed expectancy.

The world outside blurred into a frosted painting, and conversation buzzed like flies over a picnic. A husky forward was babbling about his alleged reindeer ancestry. “Nonsense,” scoffed a Dalmatian, cocking a brow. “Pure poppycock.” And would you know it? There I was, lapping it all up, the rich tapestry of banter, the unique splendor of this nocturnal escapade.

But let’s not romanticize too much—the journey was just the whipped cream atop the dessert. The North Pole was the cherry. Ah, but what a cherry! It was a wonderland that trounced any storyteller’s description, the stuff of dreams and Christmas cards.

There, amid the frolics and sleigh rides—yes, real sleighs with bells that jingled with every leap—came a revelation. My jolly romp through the snow was not just about the destination; it was the unleashing of joy, the shared snickers and head tilts, the universal chorus of ‘who let the dogs out.’

As the clock winked toward midnight, with the auroras dancing overhead like a discoball at The Bark Shak’s New Year’s Eve Party, I understood what made Spencerville—and this particular journey—extraordinary. It wasn’t the opulence nor the jovial atmosphere. It was the camaraderie, the knowing glances exchanged over milk bones and meatloaf from The Fetching Deli.

The Polar Pooch Express wasn’t just a train ride; it was an anthem for all the snoozes and sniffs we shared back home in Spencerville, a testament to the bonds that outlast even the final curtain call.

With the North Star twinkling approval, Soco and I, along with the fuzzy ensemble, sang the night away, howling carols at the top of our lungs, our hearts full and our tales a-swishing. Stitch, the Beagle, had discovered the true wonders of the season—a jolly good jaunt indeed.

The End.