Hey there! Just lettin’ ya know I played guide whisperer in our latest adventure. Fog thicker than the fur on a Chow Chow, and Rudy’s nose lit up brighter than a firefly at a night picnic. I rallied the pups, steered Santa Claws’ sleigh, and turned ol’ Rudy from the butt of jokes to our hometown hero. Spencerville’s never seen a Christmas like this – we found the magic in misfit moments and painted the town red (nose-style)! Stay paw-some, Zeke 😎🐾🎄

Listen to the story here

When the world tilts on the brink of mundane, a twist of fate—or snout—can brighten the gloomiest of days. Take yesterday, for example, when I, Zeke, woke to the same glorious, constant sunrise in Spencerville, my speckled coat a perfect camouflage against the weaves of dawn’s light.

Here, in this tail-wagging utopia, life moves at the leisurely pace of a well-gnawed bone, but yesterday was different. It was Christmas Eve, and not just any Christmas Eve, but one smothered in an impenetrable fog that could throw the most intrepid canine off their scent trail. It was a fog that threatened to dampen our spirits and veil the splendors of East Pug Palace in a shroud fitter for a ghost story than holiday cheer.

Strolling through the fuzzed streets, past the Bark and Bites where the scent of bacon lingers like a promise, I chanced upon Max, his terrier tail a blurry propeller of excitement. “Zeke!” he barked, his voice cutting through the mist like a hot knife through pupperoni. “Have you heard about Rudy?”

“Rudy?” I echoed, my ice-blue eyes narrowing in thought.

“Yes, Rudy! The retriever with the bioluminescent beak—snout! I always get those confused. Anyway, he’s feeling lower than a dachshund’s belly. Won’t come out of his doghouse.”

His words rolled over me like thunder from a distant storm. True, Rudy was often the butt of the joke, his glowing nose a beacon for teasing rather than admiration. I had seen him, a flicker of red that children pointed at, marveling, while older dogs scoffed or turned away, embarrassed on his behalf. But the idea of Rudy, downcast on such a day, sparked something in my chest—a feeling that felt suspiciously like that human thing called empathy.

“Oh, is that so?” I mused, determination knitting my brows together. “Well, we can’t have one of our own sinking his tail between his legs on Christmas Eve. That simply won’t do.”

Max’s grin was a badge of conspiracy. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

I nodded, and off we scuttled to Rudy’s place, where we found him curled beside The Wagging Tail Bookstore, his nose dim with disheartenment. Bella was there too, her Labrador wisdom evident as she gently nudged Rudy with reassuring snuffles.

“Rudy, old boy,” I began, assuming the informal air of canine camaraderie, “this fog, it’s thicker than the peanut butter in the Kong toys at Doggie Daycare. We need your…” I trailed off, gesturing to his snout, “…unique talents.”

His nose, once a muted ruby, flickered to life, a hesitant glow warming the immediate vicinity. “My nose?” Rudy blinked, the idea percolating. “But they all laugh at it…”

“Laugh? No, my friend,” I assured, winking one frosty eye. “They’ll marvel. Tonight, you’ll guide Santa Claws himself to Spencerville!”

Rudy lifted his head, and the glow took on a steadier consistency. “Guide Santa Claws? Through this fog?”

“Exactly!” I barked triumphantly. “Who else but you can ensure that every pup, from Maltese Meadow to Shih Tzu Stadium, gets their holiday treats? You’ll be a hero!”

As if on cue, the jingle of collars approached, and up trotted Santa Claws, his sleigh laden with toys and bones, the reinpups flanking him struggling to make head or tail of their direction. “Ho, ho—Oh, my dog, I can’t see a paw in front of my face!”

With a shared nod, we ushered Rudy forward. The rest, dear reader, is a tale that’ll be barked about for ages. Rudy, with his beacon of a nose, guided the sleigh through the murk. And as we trailed behind the luminescent parade, Spencerville glowed with more than just festive lights—it glowed with pride.

And as for me? I found a new appreciation for twilight walks, as I padded beside Rudy, whose nose now cast a path of gleaming hope—a beacon not just for Santa Claws, but for any soul who’s ever felt out of place in this vast, mysterious world. After all, isn’t that the true spirit of Christmas—finding light in the unexpected, and guiding each other home?

The End.

Share This Story: