Hey Jamie, it’s me, Buck. Just a quick tail wag to say I’ve been busy spreadin’ the holiday spirit around Pawsburg, nudgin’ you to the giving side. We’re throwing a fundraiser for the strays – got my paws crossed it’ll be a howlin’ success and warm your heart just as much as a sunbeam on my belly. Standby for a miracle, buddy. Love, Buck 🐾🎄

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Well now, there I was, old Buckwheat, the black pitbull-Labrador mix you could count on, lounging under that slant of sunlight in the living room with my belly relishing the warmth. But lo and behold, my ears perked up – there were no jingling sounds of Jamie’s footsteps, no scent of chicken in the air. That time of year had come once more when Jamie turned into quite the Ebenezer, keeping every kindness locked tighter than a cat in a dog’s game.

Knowing that my dear owner’s heart needed thawin’ more than Pawsburg needed another hydrant. I silently vowed to be his loyal guide; to wag him back to generosity by leading with my own.

With the first whisper of dawn, off I went to the mythical Pawsburg, guided by the siren call of adventure – or the promise of Husky’s Hotcakes, you decide. Max was the harshest dachshund critic ’bout pancakes this side of the fire hydrant, always quick with a jibe about the syrup, yet first to lick the plate. Bella’d be waxing poetic ’bout Gus finding his old bone like it was a lost treasure chest, and Gus, bless his soul, would just nod, dreamin’ of the next nap spot pearls were to be found.

On this fine day, Pearl Papillon Promenade was more bustling than a can of squirrels. Shops displayed yuletide garlands, and dogs wore jolly twinkles in their eyes. The air was thick with tail-wagging anticipation, and not even a dog with a grudge ‘gainst the mailman could resist the cheer.

We found ourselves outside The Pooch Playhouse. A magic show was on – rabbits being pulled out of hats! If only Jamie could see the thrift of fun in giving, he’d be pulling out more than a grudging dime from his tight fist.

The day sauntered on, me and my paw-ls making merry, darting from shop to shop, until a humbug of growling thunder rolled in. Quick as a fox in a hen house, I was ducking ‘neath a cart at Pointer Pier, weathering the storm like it was the end-times.

When at last the skies parted, revealing a generous evening star, an idea brighter than a lightning bolt struck me. I’d give Jamie a nudge towards the spirit of giving through an old, honest ploy – a fundraiser for the stray dogs of Pawsburg!

Never mind that I was as scornful of fundraisers as cats are of swimming, but for Jamie’s sake, I’d be a marshal in a parade.

Back home, I presented my idea with all the finesse of a wagging tail knocking trinkets off the coffee table. Jamie, upon seeing my earnest eyes, perhaps thought of those less fortunate pups and decided it was time to turn a new leaf.

And so, the following days were spent in merriment organizing the grand event – toys and food galore. I played the charmer, shaking paws here, flashing grins there, showing Jamie that generosity opens doors his wealth never could.

On the eve of the fundraiser, with the living room transformed into a haven of holiday joy, Jamie’s heart swelled like my love for that squeaky red ball. Donations poured in, and I could see the reflecting glee in Jamie’s eyes. He was like the band’s first fiddle, playing a tune that had all dancing.

As we lay by the fire’s cracklin’ glow, with the fundraiser a howlin’ success, Jamie gave me that behind-the-ear scratch, ruffling my fur with the newfound softness of his heart. And there, in the pocket of that cozy room, I thought to myself, “Well now, Buckwheat, you old softy. Ain’t Christmas the time for miracles after all?”

I flopped my head onto Jamie’s lap, content as a king in his castle, knowing the morrow would surely be filled with many more tales of change, charity, and a belly full of treats.

The End.

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