Hey Mom,

Just hopped off the Polar Pooch Express after an epic trip to the North Pole! It was like a fairytale on rails, with snowflakes dancing and stars twinkling. Met the most delightful fur-friends and saw sights so magical, I barely missed my squeaky chickens. Can’t wait to spin you yarns that out-twinkle the stars themselves. Home is calling, but these paws carry tales of wonder!

Hugs and tail wags,
Gremmi

Listen to the story here

Well I’ll be, here it is, the eve before Christmas, and who’d have guessed it? This small frame of mine, standing at the edge of Terrier Town, brimming with a sort of anticipation that only comes round once a year. The air is filled with the smell of adventure, or maybe that’s just the tail-waggin’ scent wafting from Snout Snacks down yonder.

Daisy was on about this train, see, The Polar Pooch Express they called it, bound straight for the North Pole. Whiskers claimed it’s pure humbuggery, all meows and no scratch – but here I stand, my two teeth a-tingling in the frosty air, while Whiskers slumbers, curled up tighter than a question mark on her cushion back home.

Oh, mercy, the Express now, with its whistle sounding sweeter than a hound at supper time, pulls into the station, plumes of glittering steam like specters dancing in the moonlit night. Dogs of every spot and size milling around, tails ablaze with delight like candles on a birthday cake.

Don’t think I haven’t seen the stares, for mine’s not the visage of an everyday canine. No, my charm doth crest like a wave in the sea – thin on top, and broader at the bottom. I give them a smile, shy a few teeth, and they smile back. It’s kindness, not mockery, that warms them to me; even kindness can don a coat of jest.

On board, now, and the seats are plush as a pile of feathers. My behind’s settled next to a Pomeranian puffball whose excitement makes her fur stand on end like it’s beseeched by static. Off we chug, away from Pawsburg, away from Terrier Town, Doberman Dunes just a memory in the distance.

Pawsitively Purrfect Pet Store, The Wagging Tail Bookstore – they’re receding in the past like words after you’ve read ’em. The train’s churning wheels strum a rhythm onto the tracks, telling tales of journeys yore. Outside, the world’s brushed silver and blue, icy tendrils clutching at the windows, but inside’s warm as Pooch’s Pub on a cold winter day.

Then it’s there, the sparkle in the eyes of our motley crew, for the conductor – a sprightly beagle with a cap perched comically atop his head – announces it: the magic hour when pups behold wonders untold. We gather round, breaths held tight as a nut in a squirrel’s jaw.

And mercy me, who’d have thought? The landscape, it transforms, changes as quick as Whiskers’ mood come bath time. Snowflakes dance like pixies, the stars twinkle gaily, and the Polar Pooch Express steams through a land enchanted by the season’s pure delight. I tell you, something in my chest puffs up with pride for taking this leap.

Lost in thoughts wide as the plains, I almost forget about the golden sunbeam and the tug of my squeaky rubber chickens. For here, the present sweeps me along like a leaf in a stream, and the heart flutters like wings of a hummingbird.

The night wanes, the journey ends, and we’re there. The North Pole. Mystical as a dream and twice as glittery. And I, Jose of scarce fur and laughing eyes, I’ve made it on the Polar Pooch Express, my friends just tales to tell.

You may well say, “Jose, what wonders did you see?” I’d just chuckle through my unique grin and say, “More than my words can carry, and my tail could wag. But the memory, now that’s tucked safe, snug as that last bite of soft canned chicken before a nap.”

And I’d return, of course. Pawsburg’s charm always leads me back, where dreams are not just lived, but lived to tell. And tell them I shall, my dear friends, with the wit of Twain and the warmth of a hearth on a winter’s night.

The End.