Hey there,

You wouldn’t believe it, but I, Jubal Fluff (your four-legged flurry of festivity), just hitched a ride on the Polar Pooch Express to the North Pole! Met a motley pack of paw-friends, munched on steaks fit for canine kings, and am now on track for some yuletide magic. Buckle up, my human friend, our snuggles will be extra sparkly post this tail-waggin’ adventure!

Tail wags and wet nose kisses,
Jubal 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Ah, Pawsburg. You wouldn’t believe it if you saw it with your own eyes. A little place just beyond the realm of human senses, a secret haven where we—a gaggle of tail-waggers and snout-sniffers alike—revel in our own merry paradise. And I, Jubal Fluff, am no exception.

It was on a crisp Christmas Eve, when the moon hung like a silver dollar against the velvet sky, that I found myself padding quietly through the sleeping household. My little girl, the one with the laughter in her voice, had finally succumbed to dreams of sugarplums and whatnot. I had an appointment with a destiny I hadn’t yet comprehended.

It all started as I approached Cocker Courtyard, a whisper of snowflakes beginning their waltz in the air. The town square, always aglow with lively lanterns, seemed to buzz with anticipatory delight. There it was—a train, gleaming beneath the night’s embrace, unlike anything Pawsburg had ever witnessed.

“The Polar Pooch Express,” read the shimmering script adorning its side.

My ears twitched; I couldn’t contain the wag of excitement that ran through to my tail. I climbed aboard, joining a host of other fur-folk, all whispering of the wonders to be bestowed upon the first to reach the North Pole on Christmas morning.

We found our seats, plush and cozy, the ambiance alight with the promise of adventure. Conversations hummed like the purr of the train’s steel heart, Duchess the Siamese offering a refined nod my way before turning her whiskers to the frosted window.

As the Polar Pooch Express chugged its determined path through landscapes steeped in the magic of wintertide, my mind wandered to every cranny of Pawsburg I so loved. The Shar-Pei Shores with its frothy waves might now be a canvas of icicles and snowdrifts, Spitz Spire peering through veils of white as if reaching for the Polar Star itself. And Murphy’s Meadow… how the grass would be speckled with the glow of frost, each blade a testament to the serenity of the season.

A bellowing toot sent the carriage into silence as the conductor, a grizzled old beagle in a red cap, announced the first stop: none other than a buffet of wondrous eats for us to feast upon before our journey’s end. We disembarked into a hall of candles and chandeliers, Setter’s Steakhouse had outdone themselves — their chefs taking a temporary outpost here in the far reaches of nowhere.

My tongue lolled at the smell. Juicy steaks, gravy dripping in luxurious abandon, the kind of savory delight usually reserved for special Sundays. Remember, Jubal, manners over matter, I reminded myself, recalling the spirit of grace my girl had always encouraged in me.

Avoiding the distractions of Pawfect Pastries and Terrier Tacos, I indulged in the meat, a symphony of flavor lighting up the evergreen garland of my soul. No kibble tonight. Tonight was an evening of enchantment and gastronomy.

As the final course was cleared, we re-boarded our mystical carriage. Rusty nudged me with his stump-tail, a camaraderie forged in the thrill of imminent arrival at the apex of yuletide legend.

When the whistle wailed its piercing note of departures and destinations, I nestled amongst my peers, gazing starward. The engine heaved its breath of coal and steam, inching us closer to where elves were surely making merry, and reindeer took to the skies.

The anticipation swelled within me, a bubble of youthful delight. We set forth under the banners of brotherhood and joy, our barks singing to the tune of jingle bells — our paws, the chosen few, bound for the merry and bright heart of Christmas.

It was indeed “a most wonderful time of the year,” as the humans say. A journey born from dreams, whisking this Goldendoodle named Jubal Fluff to the spirited edges of winter’s enchantment, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The End.

Share This Story: