Hey Pal,

Just your regular hero, Champ, checking in post-mission. Led the pack through Pawsburgh’s worst fog to guide Santa Paws at Bloodhound Bluffs. Navigate in the dark? Pfft, child’s play. Eyes like beacons, a dash of dapper—you know the drill. Saved Chrimbo, snagged the secret squeaky. Just another day’s work. 😉

Sweet dreams,
Champ 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

Hey you, it’s me, Champ—the dachshund who’s too cool for just one zip code. Beyond the picket fence whimsy of Earth, where the humans think they run the show, there’s a cityscape drafted by canine paws—Pawsburgh. Oh, and when I’m there? I’m the dapper pup strutting down Schnauzer Street, my coat shimmering like I’m fresh from a cosmic doggie salon.

So let’s dish. It was just another regular night—or so my human thought as they blissfully snoozed, ignorant to the tail-thumping escapades about to unfold. The stars were a bit shy that evening, tucking themselves behind a woolly blanket of fog. A perfect night for a jaunt to Pawsburgh, wouldn’t you agree?

I plotted a beeline for The Woofy Bakery, the air thick with the scent of fresh-baked doggie cannoli. You could practically taste the carob chips in your dreams. Trust me, it was nothing short of a taste bud rave.

But as I trotted past Fetch! Toys and Treats, I overheard some hushed barking about a fog so thick, you couldn’t see a whisker in front of your snout. Turns out Bloodhound Bluffs was getting zero visibility tonight, and—wait for it—Santa Paws got all twisted up on his practice runs. Oh, the rein-dogs had the standard foglights installed, but we’re talking pea soup fog, friend. Regular lights weren’t going to cut the mustard.

Now, you’re savvy enough to piece together where a chap like me fits into this tail-wagging tale. A dachshund by design, but a hero at heart, my keen eyes were just what Santa Paws needed to light the way. Plus, I could use a good romp amid the cloud confetti.

Barking out a quick plan, I rallied the troops: a spunky corgi from Shar-Pei Shores and a savvy spaniel I knew from Paw-lickin’ Pancakes. “All paws on deck!” I yapped, summoning any wagging soul within earshot.

As I led the pack to the Bluffs, the fog hugged us like an overbearing aunty—you know, the kind that keeps the kisses coming and doesn’t quite know personal space. With Santa Paws’ sleigh wobbling like the last jiggles of a gelatin dessert, it was clear that time was a luxury we didn’t hold in our paws.

Activating maximum chic, my sapphire eyes pierced through the fog like high-beams, revealing the path clearer than a de-fluffed chew toy. Santa Paws, no rookie to a tight fix, caught my drift and veered the sleigh aft. “Ho-ho-how did you do that?” he laughed, his belly quaking like a bowl of jelly.

Picture this: me, a dapper special ops commando, harnessing my exceptional eyesight for a Christmas cause. It was no biggie, just your average Thursday night frolic. With the path illuminated, the sleigh grazed the Bluffs without a hiccup, and the rein-dogs cheered, their howls harmonizing with the sleigh’s bells.

Rolling back into town, tongues lolling with triumph, we exchanged exaggerated tail wags and Bark-shires at Poodle’s Pasta. Sharing a plate of spaghetti—yeah, it happened, don’t judge—we chuckled at our rambunctious revelry.

Oh, and about that favorite thing of mine, the hush-hush squeaky toy secret? Let’s leave it between us: it was there all along, lodged right under Santa Paws’ furry seat—go figure! Once our spaghetti smorgasbord was naught but a saucy memory, I gnawed that toy with the pride of a dog who’d just saved Christmas. Not too shabby for a dapple dachshund, huh?

Swapping slobbery goodbyes, I dashed home, where I curled up on my human’s toes—my secret tales of Pawsburgh snugly tucked away in my heart. Just a wink of doggie dreamland under the twinkle of a now-visible starry sky, and a tale to bark another day.

The End.