Hey Jingles! Just curled up after our epic evening. We sleighed it! 😏 Helped re-spark the Christmas cheer in the city. Kids laughed, we sang, and your heart’s as bright as Pawsburg’s festive lights now. Remember, every elf’s got a Duo to light the way! 🎄🐾 – Duo (aka Bark Twain)

Listen to the story here

As the frost began to kiss the windowpanes of Pawsburg, I nestled deeper into the comfy squash of my velvet bed by the fireplace in the Morgans’ living room. You see, the thing about being a Pawsburgher with a fur coat like a Van Gogh painting is that you’re never just an ordinary dog; you are, in essence, a keeper of untold stories. Tonight, an adventure awaited me—one that required a touch more than my usual bravado.

It all began as the clock chimed midnight, the hour when magic curled into the corners of our otherwise pragmatic world. I stretched, feeling the eagerness of the night seep into my paws. One swift trot later, I found myself at the gossamer gates of Pawsburg, greeted by the glimmering lights of the Quartz Qimmiq Quarter. I, Duo, was on a quest most urgent and heartwarming: to aid my beleaguered elf companion, Jingles, in rediscovering the spark of Christmas.

Jingles, with his pointy green hat askew, sat slump-shouldered on a bench in Samoyed Square. It seems even the inventors of cheer could fall into a funk, and it was up to me to nose him out of it. We had been quite the duo in the North Pole, with me helping him sniff out the best trees for sap and him ensuring I had an endless supply of those savory hot dog treats.

“Duo,” he sighed as I approached, his voice the pitch of jingle bells on a somber day, “it’s the children—I can’t seem to connect with their Christmas spirit. The city has swallowed it whole!”

Though not fond of kiddos myself, the mission beckoned with a noble paw. First things first: sustenance at Mastiff’s Meals. A reindeer sausage for him, a haute hot dog for me—we dined under the warm glow of fairy lights before we were to venture to the concrete forests of the city.

Our night in the city was a blur of snowflakes and sparkling street lamps, punctuated by the hum of season’s greetings. We visited ice rinks and peered into toy shop windows adorned with ribbons and a dreamscape of dolls and trains.

At each stop, Jingles’ smile widened and, I daresay, a shimmer began to dance in his eyes. It was Pawlitzer-worthy, watching him bend down to chortlepuffs bundled in woolen overcoats, whispering elf secrets that made their faces light up brighter than the star atop the giant fir in the square.

Despite my distaste for unpredictable tots, one can’t help but admire their simple, unbridled joy. “Perhaps,” I pondered, wagging my tail, “there’s a method to their bounding madness.”

“Duo, we’ve got one last stop,” Jingles pointed towards the towering city Christmas tree, where families were gathering. “Sing with me?”

So, I did. We barked and crooned in tune with the choir, our voices blanketing the chilled air with warmth. Parents chuckled and children clapped, circling around us as we harmonized with the melody of holly and homecomings.

We found our finale at Woof Waffles, eggnog waffles for Jingles, maple-glazed bacon topping for me. As we sat at a window table, Jingles’ laugh echoed with a familial timbre.

“Thank you, Duo. You’ve reminded me that Christmas isn’t just merry for those at the North Pole. Every child, every family, in this big city has a spark waiting to be kindled.”

And I, in true Nora-esque style, replied with a chuckle, “Well, every good elf needs a best friend—even if he’s brindle-coated and prefers to avoid high-pitched squeals.”

Leaning back, I watched snowflakes pirouette down from the ink-black sky, Jingles’ spirits rekindled. And as we ambled back to Pawsburg, the city alight with Christmas warmth, the magic of the night hummed a promise—that every dog, every elf, has their day to be the hero of their own holiday tale.

The End.

Share This Story: