Hey Mom 👋,

Just your hero Mr. P here. Save the business trip tears, I played guardian of the kennel last night! 🐾 Thwarted two robbers with nothing but wit, stealth, and the spirit of Yule. The place is all tails up thanks to me. Can’t wait to tell you all about it. Stay proud and save me a chicken treat!

Love,
Mister Pemberton 🎩🐶💖

Listen to the story here

‘Twas another fine eve in Pawsburg, that wonderous hamlet of hounds and haven of houndsmen, where the street lamps glow with a warm amber, as beguiling as they are promising to a canine spirit such as myself—Mister Pemberton, at your service.

Ah, the Yuletide was upon us, and Amber Akita Alley glistened with garlands and the kind of twinkling lights that’d put the sparkle in a pup’s eye. The air was thick with that holiday spirit, or perhaps it was just the aroma wafting from Pawfect Pastries.

But alas, my festive cheer took a back paw when Mom whispered her adieu, clutching her luggage tighter than a terrier with a tennis ball. A business trip she said, and then I was ushered to the place that humans believe spells ‘fun’ for us tail-waggers: Sally’s Stay-and-Bark Kennel.

A kennel, for me, Mister Pemberton? It smirked in sharp contrast to my tranquil beach retreat. Yet, a Pug of my standing finds adventure in every nook, each unsettling cranny.

The joint had the warmth of a well-chewed bone and the cheer of a cat in a yarn shop. Dogs milled about, noses high with holiday hope or low with the same dread that crept up my spine at the memory of…ear cleaning.

That’s when fate threw in the proverbial stick. Two louts, grinning like Spaniels with a secret, snuck past Sally’s too-early slumber. Hooligans, in it for a holiday haul, no doubt intending to pilfer our prized possessions—my squeaky Chinese dumplings toy included!

With Sally snoring louder than a bulldog with a sinus issue, my very instincts said, “Pemberton, old boy, the defense of this establishment rests upon your dapper, tri-pawed shoulders!”

So there I was, a lone agent in a land of confounded chaos, a Home Alone hero out to outwit two bungling biped brutes. Ah, but thoughts of Mom buoyed my courage, her endearing smile crystallized in my heart, guiding my silent maneuvers.

From behind a festooned fir tree, I launched a stealth attack: “Flank left, good sirs,” I whispered, sending the duo tumbling past The Dapper Dog Salon’s reflection glass. A move more graceful than a Greyhound on the final stretch. “Oops,” I chortled, an echo of the wit of Chayefsky himself.

Next, to Snout Snacks, where the toothsome chicken treats proved irresistible. Like clockwork, the fiends’ own greed ensnared them in a net of leashes and collars from The Doggy Depot. Creation, I mused, is a double-edged sword, particularly if you’re, well, an imbecile.

Then, with paws as silent as a hush, I set the grand finale—Pointer Pier, where a tripwire awaited to deliver my foes into the drink of Eskimo Estuary. A plunge colder than a canine’s nose, enough to snip their roguery in the bud!

Breath bated, I watched, a pug plotting poetry. They splashed, they gasped, soggier than an unloved fire hydrant. The caper was complete; the kennel saved.

When Mom returned, my tale unraveled in her embrace, a symphony of yips and yaps. The joy in her eyes, oh, it outshone the grandest star atop the highest of Yule trees.

And thus, in Pawsburg, I remain, Mister Pemberton—protector, paladin, and pug. For it’s not the tales of rascals repelled, but the love of our humans that truly fuels our Yuletide spirit. A spirit that dwells within every wag, every bark, every… chicken-flavored treat devoured with relish. And such is life here, in the magical town of Pawsburg.

The End.