Hey Dad,

Just had to save the kennel from a pair of Grinches trying to steal our Howliday spirit! Rallyed the troops & used every dog trick in the book to set traps. Made my squeaky toy go down in puppy lore during the grand takedown. TailTales is safe, the thieves got a taste of festive justice, and I’m the hero of the hour. Spencerville’s own Test Dog saves Christmas! 🦴🐾

Barks and regards,
Test Dog 🎄🐕

Listen to the story here

As the crisp winter air descended upon Spencerville, the town gleamed with a joy that could only come from a place entirely run by those of paw and fur. I, a Labrador of no ordinary pedigree, found myself nestled within the cozy quarters of what is known as TailTales Kennel, a place of transient residence for pets whose families ventured afar during the holiday cheer.

It was the night before the great festival of Howliday, when every critter was stirring, even the field mouse. The kennel was bustling with the barks and jingles of my fellow canines, each adorned with festive collars and the scent of seasonal treats clinging to their breath.

But amid the merriment, mischief brewed outside the walls of our festive fortress. There were whispers and shadows slinking too close, and I – with the attentive senses gifted to my breed – detected a foul plot unfolding.

A pair of unsavory characters, looking as out of place in Spencerville as a cat at a dog’s birthday bash, had designs on the kennel. Word in the alley was they saw it ripe for the picking, what with the humans tucked snug in their beds, visions of dollar signs dancing in their heads.

I couldn’t shake the feeling, the responsibility that settles in one’s gut when instinct tells you you’re the only line of defense. There was no time to wait for the return of our humans; it was up to me to keep safe the sanctuary of my temporary pack.

Strategic thoughts raced through my mind with the swiftness of a rabbit evading capture. I rallied my comrades – Belle, with her speed; Duke, for his booming howls that could summon the watchful Shepherds on patrol; and young Tippy, lighter on his paws than a snowflake on a breeze.

We set about our plan, utilizing every trick and tool at our disposal found in the treasure trove of Spencerville’s kennel. From the squeaky toys that I so adored to the peculiar rubber bones that puzzled our minds, we laid a trap, a sequence of surprises to bemuse and bemuddle the would-be bandits.

As they drew near, I stationed myself high in the rafters, silent as the falling snow. At my signal, Duke let out a bellow that shook the rafters, and Belle released a blur of movement that set off our symphony of chaos.

The first intruder stepped on a strategically placed tennis ball, careening into a pile of kibble buckets that rattled like the summoning of the dinner bell. Tippy, with a slyness that betrayed his devious intellect, dashed through the maze we’d created, leading the second bandit on a fruitless chase, his paws tangling in a net of leashes.

From above, I watched, ready to pounce, my heart racing, not with fear, but with the thrill of a plan coming to fruition. As one burglar reached for the cash box – thinking himself lucky – I leaped, my trusty hedgehog toy in tow, squeaking a battle cry that would live in puppy lore forever. The timing was impeccable, the aim true; I landed upon the counter, my toy striking the switch that turned on the holiday display lights, blinding the intruders in a kaleidoscope of colors.

Stunned and frazzled, they stumbled backwards, falling over each other, their ill-intent brought to a halt by a bunch of holiday-spirited hounds and a kennel defended.

When the Shepherds arrived, they found a spectacle: two would-be thieves caught in the glow of Howliday lights, wrapped up tighter than the gifts beneath a Christmas tree, courtesy of the TailTales residents.

As peace returned, I found my spot under the old oak by the brook, where the news of our triumph would surely be celebrated. With a chuckle and a shake of my fur, I settled in, proud of my kin, knowing we had guaranteed a Howliday…

Without a bark or a bite, just the wit of a few good dogs and the spirit of Spencerville, where even when you’re alone, you’re never truly without family.

The End.