There are dogs, and then there is Athena, the elegant, intelligent, gentle, soft-hearted, two-year-old husky with the aesthetic of a snow princess and the personality of a toddler who just discovered espresso. A creature of beauty and brains who also regularly achieved flight while leaping over furniture for reasons known only to her and possibly several bored angels. She had a black, grey and white coat that looked like it was painted by a fancy artist who charged too much, and her two eyes, one opal blue, one rich chestnut, gave the constant impression that she could read minds and was deeply unimpressed by most of them.
Her family adored her. Naturally, they called her Princess and Miss Pants, and it is widely believed she accepted these titles, not verbally, but by simply staring at a human until they felt compelled to bestow royal names upon her. She hated wet paws with a passion normally reserved for dramatic soap opera characters. Rain offended her. Mud insulted her ancestry. Morning dew was a personal betrayal. She crossed damp grass like a Victorian lady insisting she might faint dramatically if her delicate toes so much as touched something moist.
And yet she cherished chaos. Digging up the lawn with the enthusiasm of a pirate seeking buried gold? Absolutely. Excavating flower beds until they resembled crime scenes? Yes. Nibbling noses as her preferred form of affection? Double yes and a half.
Sharing her kingdom was Obito, a one-year-old malamute with the physical grace of a baby polar bear on roller skates and the soul of an overexcited cinnamon roll. He was fluffy, enormous, and in perpetual disbelief about the size of his own paws, which were large enough to qualify as flotation devices. His face was black, with tan eyebrows and eye patches that made him look permanently startled. His body was a black, tan, and grey cloud of fluff, like someone tried to draw a wolf from memory but forgot how legs worked halfway through.
He was known far and wide as Mr Toe Beans and Love Bug, because his preferred love language was drowning unsuspecting humans in oceans of sloppy kisses while smiling the world’s goofiest, most enthusiastic grin. Where Athena moved like a ballerina, Obito moved like gravity personally disapproved of him. She soared over furniture, he plowed into it. She navigated with precision, he tripped over air molecules.
On Christmas Eve, the house was quiet. The humans slept. Stockings hung neatly. Cookies sat waiting. The lights glowed softly. 
And Santapaws, the magical canine distributor of toys, glided across the sky preparing to drop down chimneys and deliver festive joy. Or, in this particular house, deliver himself directly into chaos.
The moment he stepped onto the roof, he sensed something was wrong. Some claimed he heard rumors whispered on the wind about Princess Athena’s latest excavation project. Others said he spotted the faint outline of Obito’s giant smile glowing through the curtains like a beacon of impending disaster. Whatever it was, he knew danger lurked.
Still, he approached the chimney. He descended. He emerged in the living room with all the grace of someone who was getting too old for this job. And he tried, tried to place a toy under the tree quietly.
Unfortunately, Obito possessed supernatural treat-detection abilities. At the faintest crinkle from Santapaws’s sack, Obito’s eyes flew open like he’d been electrocuted. His tail went from zero to hurricane. He nudged Athena frantically.
“Princess,” he hissed in pure Doggo. “We have a snack burglar.”
Athena, cocooned in seven blankets like royalty in winter hibernation mode, cracked open her mismatched eyes. “Does he have the audacity to walk on the carpet with snow paws?”
“Worse,” Obito gasped. “Snacks. I heard them.”
Athena shot upright like someone fired her out of a cannon.
Santapaws, meanwhile, placed a toy down gently.
Then chaos descended.
A grey, black and white blur sailed over the couch, flipped mid-air like an Olympic gymnast who was also slightly unhinged, landed with perfect silence, and began creeping forward like a spy who demanded applause.
Athena had arrived.
She sniffed dramatically. She raised one perfect paw to ensure everyone noticed her commitment to staying dry. She made eye contact with Santapaws, and the old polar bear felt a chill run down his spine.
Then came the thunder.
BOOM. THUD. CLATTER. SCRATCH. HELP-ME.
Obito entered the room at a speed that should not have been physically possible, his huge paws smacking the floor like wet pancakes. He skidded sideways, flopped forward, and barreled directly into Santapaws’s bag. The bag tipped. Toys poured forth like Santapaws had been smuggling a dragon’s hoard. Obito shrieked, “PRESENTS!” with the unhinged delight of someone witnessing a miracle.
Athena froze mid-step. Her eyes widened slightly. Then she heard it. The squeak. A toy, rolling free of the pile, sounding the single squeaky note that broke whatever fragile dignity she had left.
Her soul left her body for half a second.
She launched herself at the squeaky toy, grabbed it, and began squeaking it furiously while running victory laps. Santapaws watched helplessly as Obito rolled on his back, paws in the air, showing off his toe beans like a model doing glamour shots.
Santapaws attempted diplomacy. “Children, please, I really must…..”
Athena squeaked harder.
Obito wiggled.
Athena sprinted faster.
Obito got halfway stuck under the couch while trying to retrieve a gingerbread biscuit.
Athena, now possessed by squeaky toy ecstasy, began digging into the carpet because nothing says victory like starting a home renovation project.
Santapaws stared at the toppled ornaments, the sideways tree, the carpet excavation site, and Obito’s fluffy rear end sticking out from under the furniture. He aged twenty years on the spot.
He surrendered. “Fine. One extra toy each.”
Athena declared, “Deal,” and immediately resumed digging. Obito gave Santapaws such a sloppy kiss that the old polar bear briefly reconsidered his entire career choice.
By morning, Athena had gathered every blanket in the house into a cozy throne of fabric. Obito had fallen asleep inside Santapaws’s toy sack like a giant furry gift someone forgot to wrap. Santapaws, exhausted and questioning his life decisions, escaped through the window while whispering, “Never again.”
When the humans woke, they found the living room in a state that could only be described as Christmas having been swallowed and then explosively sneezed back out.
Athena perched atop her blanket throne with regal pride. “We protected the house,” she announced. “We stopped the treat thief.”
Obito wagged. “And we got toys.”
“Exactly,” Athena replied. “Heroes.”
The humans, staring at the carnage, silently agreed that Santapaws might never recover from this household.
And they also agreed that they didn’t really need Santapaws.
They already had their own Christmas chaos.
And those two were perfect exactly as they were.

©️Lainey Green Intwined.blog

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