Hey there! Quick pupdate: Your buddy Riley here played a tail-wagging part in warming Bernie’s heart this Yuletide. I’ve been a Frisbee-fetchin’, tail-chasin’, holiday spirit ambassador, witnessing our very own Pawsburg Christmas miracle. We’ve got treats, knitted scarves, and a new tradition of sharing bench space at Shiba Inlet. Sometimes, the best treats aren’t even edible – they’re watching the joy of change. Catch you on the flip side! 🐾 – Riles

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If there’s one thing I, Riley, know about adventures, it’s that they usually start with a frisbee toss and end with a pawful of crumbs from an ice cream cone—or if you’re fancy, Paw Pad Thai. But there was something different in the air as the holidays crept into Pawsburg, a sparkle that even outshone my most polished nose prints on the human’s glass slider.

Let me tell you about my human, Bernie. He’s the kind who keeps kibble under lock and key and counts every treat like it’s gold. He’s all “bah humbug” over chew toys and would rather donate his socks to the washing machine Monsters than hand ’em over for my tug-of-war pleasures.

But something flipped. Maybe a Frisbee knocked the miserly sense right outta his noggin, because come Yuletide, Bernie’s heart started to thaw. And this tale ain’t just about him; it’s about how this loyal doggo got to witness the whole holiday hullabaloo.

One crispy Pawsburg eve, a raven-haired whirlwind named Zoey and I snuck off to Samoyed Square, where lights twinkled and tails wagged to the beat of jingle bells. The spirit of giving was so thick, you could roll it into a ball and toss it for hours. It hit me harder than the realization that vacuums are not, in fact, hellhounds.

Maggie, the queen bee of our home, had a paw in opening Bernie’s eyes. “Riley,” she’d say with a look that could calm a stampede of puppies, “humans might have weird ways, but they come around. They need a little nudge—a nudge or a heartwarming holiday movie marathon.”

To my wonder, subtly changing channels to ‘Paws of Love: A Canine Christmas’ did wonders. Bernie’s grumbly face softened, and he even baked treats, ’cause nothing says “I accidentally ate some of the holiday spirit” like peanut butter cookies.

The twist? He didn’t stop there. He donated bones to the Doggy Depot charity bin and knit scarves—with beginner’s luck—for the chilly chihuahuas over at Dachshund Dale. His transformation had me doing victory laps around Fido’s Feast after I’d slurped down a bowl of their special holiday kibble.

“Who knew you had it in you, Bernie?” I woofed, trying my best not to judge his uneven scarf patterns. For the first time since I watched that cat videos marathon, Bernie surprised me. And that’s not doggy hyperbole. He was like Santa Paws minus the beard and svelte figure.

One miraculously fine morn, Bernie grabbed my dreaded Frisbee and flung it with a finesse that earned a slow bark. Zoey and I leaped and twirled, the grass beneath our paws mere confetti in our celebration of Bernie’s new lease on life—less ‘Scrooge’, more ‘man who loves his dog’.

And at the very apex of the holiday season, we found ourselves at the heart of Pawsburg—Bernie and I, sharing a bench in Shiba Inlet. Bernie’s careful eyes followed the town’s goings-on like he was pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He patted my head with a sigh, surreptitiously dropping a bit of ice cream my way.

Old Bernie might have balked at the sight of my joyous gobble, but New Bernie? He chuckled—a sound as rare as a cat’s obedience and as special as the first snowflake of winter. So, there I sat, Riley the Border Collie, alongside Zoey and Maggie, ears perked, tail wagging, and heart as full as my belly.

Witnessing Bernie’s heart grow three sizes too big was like catching an uncatchable Frisbee—I didn’t see it coming, but I brought it home all the same.

The End.

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