Athena the Elegant had many opinions for a two-year-old husky.
She had opinions about dinner time, which she believed always arrived several years too late. She had opinions about bath time, which she considered a direct violation of her basic civil rights. She had opinions about the vacuum, which she was convinced was a wheeled demon sent from the underworld specifically to ruin her day. And most importantly, she had very strong opinions about SantaPaws, which she had concluded was nothing more than an elaborate hoax adults created to make pups behave.
Athena was no ordinary husky. Her bi-eyes, one opal blue like an enchanted glacier and the other a deep warm chestnut, gave her an air of philosophical importance. She moved with the grace of royalty and the stubbornness of a queen who refused to accept that rules applied to her. She could clear an entire couch with a single leap, often startling humans and furniture alike. She loved chewing noses as a sign of affection, snuggling into blankets as though she were a burrito of elegance, and digging up the garden as if she were an archaeologist discovering secrets of ancient civilisations. These qualities had earned her the names Princess and Miss Pants.
But today, she was simply Athena the Skeptical.
Her mood had soured because her younger but much larger brother, Obito, was prancing around the house singing about SantaPaws while wearing a jingle bell collar that looked suspiciously tight. Obito was a one-year-old malamute with a black face, tan eyebrows that wiggled enthusiastically, and tan legs attached to gigantic paws that he was finally learning how to control. His fur was a fluffy swirl of black, tan, and grey, and he smiled with a goofiness so powerful it could melt glaciers. His love language was delivering wet, sloppy kisses to anyone who stood still long enough. Because of his oversized toe beans and contagious affection, he had been lovingly christened Mr. Toe Beans and Love Bug.
Obito adored Christmas. To him, it was not just a holiday but a sacred event. He loved the music, the sparkly lights, the wrapping paper that ripped so delightfully, and the atmosphere of joy that seemed to float through the house. But most of all, he loved the idea of SantaPaws, the magical canine who delivered treats and toys to good pups everywhere.
Athena did not share his enthusiasm.
Obito slid across the hardwood floor like an enthusiastic moose on roller skates. He skidded to a stop in front of Athena, tail swishing wildly. “Athena,” he sang in a tone that suggested he believed himself to be a world-class vocalist, “SantaPaws is coming tonight!”
Athena did not even lift her head from the blanket she was nesting in. She simply sighed. “SantaPaws is not coming. SantaPaws is not real.”
Obito gasped so dramatically he inhaled a dust bunny.
“But he is real!” he insisted. “He brings toys and biscuits and bones and magic! You just have to believe!”
Athena flicked her tail in irritation. “You have never seen him. No one has ever seen him. Therefore, he is a myth.”
Obito puffed out his chest proudly. “You can’t see love, but it’s real, right? You feel it every day. So that means SantaPaws can be real too.”
Athena blinked. She hated when Obito accidentally made sense.
Later that evening, Obito launched what he called Operation: Prove SantaPaws Exists. Athena watched, torn between amusement and existential dread, as he gathered pillows and built what he confidently referred to as SantaPaws bait. He placed cookies on the floor in a very messy circle, set out a carrot “for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Samoyed,” and then attempted to hide behind the couch. The tip of his tail poked out, wagging so vigorously that the couch shook.
“Obito,” Athena said, “this is absurd.”
“No,” he replied, lowering his voice to what he clearly thought was a scientific tone. “This is science.”
“You don’t even know what science is.”
“Yes I do,” he said with complete confidence. “Science is when you do a thing to see if a thing does a thing.”
Athena stared at him. “That… is shockingly accurate.”
“I know,” he said with immense pride. “I’m smart and handsome.”
Hours passed. Athena snuggled deeper into her blanket. Obito’s tail remained visible from behind the couch, wagging every time a leaf blew past the window. Just as Athena’s eyes began to close, a loud crash echoed through the house.
Athena shot upright, launching herself into the air like a ninja startled by responsibility. Obito sprang from behind the couch so fast he ricocheted off the armrest. “SantaPaws!” he screamed.
But it was not SantaPaws. It was the wind knocking over a potted plant.
Athena’s attention shifted from the shattered pot to the soil sprawling across the floor to Obito, whose entire face was now buried happily in the dirt. He had decided this was now a festive digging event.
“Yes!” he yelled joyfully. “Dig party!”
Athena groaned. “Obito, please, no, not the dirt, no, stop.”
But stopping Obito once he had begun a dig was impossible. He was committed.
As she tried to salvage what remained of the plant, she noticed something odd. A box. A beautifully wrapped box that had not been there earlier. It shimmered with silver ribbon and smelled faintly of peppermint, fresh biscuits, and… reindeer fur?
Obito froze mid-dig, lifting his dirt-covered face. “Athena,” he whispered, eyes wide, “did you see that?”
Athena approached the box slowly. Her nose twitched as she sniffed it. There was no mistaking the scent. It was unfamiliar. Magical. Mysterious.
“Impossible,” she muttered.
Obito nudged her gently. “Just because you haven’t seen him,” he said softly, “doesn’t mean he isn’t real.”
Athena felt something warm bloom in her chest. It wasn’t from the blanket or the lights or even the cookies scattered across the floor. It was something deeper. Something gentle. Something like the feeling she got when Obito rested his giant fluffy head on her back or when he sat beside her after she had gotten scared of thunderstorms.
Maybe, she thought, magic didn’t require proof. Maybe magic lived in belief. Maybe Obito was right.
“Maybe,” she whispered, “SantaPaws is real.”
Obito squealed with so much joy that a squirrel passing by outside fainted.
The next morning, Athena and Obito opened the mysterious box together. Inside they found two reindeer-shaped squeaky toys, matching holiday scarves, a giant bone labeled for Mr. Toe Beans, and a plush blanket labeled for Princess Miss Pants. On top of everything was a small note that simply said: Believe.
Obito cried. Athena pretended she didn’t. She failed.
That Christmas morning, Athena learned something important. SantaPaws might be real. Or he might not be. But love was absolutely real, especially when it came wrapped in fluffy fur, oversized toe beans, wet sloppy kisses, and a smile big enough to brighten the darkest winter night.
And perhaps believing in SantaPaws was really just another way of believing in the magic that lived inside the hearts of the ones you love.

©️Lainey Green Intwined.blog

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