Hey Mom,

You won’t believe it – I’m a certified Polar Pooch Express alum now! Rode the magical train, met a bunch of cool canines, and I’ve got enough tales to wag about for a lifetime. Even the cold feels like a warm hug after this trip. Heading home with my tail spinning like a holiday top. Can’t wait for a fireside snuggle and a belly rub!

Woofs and wags,
Buddy 🐾✨

Listen to the story here

I never much cared for the cold, you know. The kind of cold that nips at your nose and wraps around your tail like a sinister scarf. But there I was, standing in an evening frosted by winter’s affection, beneath the silvery whispers of Spencerville’s holiday lights. They say opportunity barks but once, and on that Christmas Eve, she barked my name: Buddy.

So there it was, the train, enveloped in a haze of steam and magic, the ‘Polar Pooch Express,’ they called it. I cocked my head, my eyes reflecting the grand locomotive as it stood with an open door, an invitation to the unimaginable. A journey to the North Pole, would you believe? I’d seen cats climb into boxes to who-knows-where, but a dog on a train to Santa’s realm? Now that’s a head-scratcher.

As I leapt aboard, I must confess, my heart performed a little jig. For a dog who normally laps up his days at Bow Wow Burgers, this was a belly rub of a different sort. The train whistled and with it, my adventure began, each chug-chug-chug a drumroll calling me to a different world.

The first to greet me was a sprightly Poodle, her hair done up in ribbons. “Welcome to the Express,” she chirped, and I, in turn, wagged my best evening wag. “There’s a world out there just panting to be sniffed,” she mused, echoing my unspoken thoughts.

At every stop, I encountered dogs of every spot and stripe. There was the German Shepherd with a bark that boomed like thunder, but whose heart was as soft as Pooched Potatoes’ fluffiest mash. And don’t let me start on the Chihuahua with the eyes loaded with more stories than Western Labradoodle Lake had ripples.

Through the frosted window, I saw the Tan Dalmatian Desert, now a sprawling blanket of pristine snow, shimmering beneath the moon’s approving glance. I was struck with the thought that, maybe, just maybe, the cold wasn’t so bad after all.

At each chapter of the journey, we shared tales of our human companions, of the joy and warmth we provided them, our voices knit together by a shared longing and a fierce hope – that our tales would wag on far beyond the landscapes we roamed.

By the time the Polar Pooch Express chugged to a stop, the North Pole gleaming like a jewel set in Earth’s icy crown, I knew a kinship with my fellow passengers that even the coziest fireside nap couldn’t rival.

So, here I am, Buddy, your golden thread in the fabric of this yarn. As the lights of Spencerville glinted their sleepy eyes and the Express prepared to whisk us back to our beloved homes, I tucked the memories close—warmer than any fur-lined bed.

Yes, every dog has his day, they say. But this dog? Oh, this dog has his yuletide night – A night of chills and thrills. Already, I can hear the clatter of paws against rooftops, a precursor to treats and pats, the snuggles that await me alongside a happily crackling hearth.

It’s true, they say we go on to live in the hearts and the yarns of those we’ve pawed at, but for one shimmering moment on the Polar Pooch Express, I lived in a fairy tale, one wag, one bark, one delightful snowflake at a time.

The End.