PAW Patrol | Christmas Collection 2022 ✔

23 | When Yuletide Carols Ring

Rocky was no Mr. Grinch, but Christmas wasn't something he was entirely fond of. But many of Adventure Bay's residents assumed he was a mean one and wouldn't touch him with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole, nor be near him within that distance. Yes, he'll admit, he always looked like he came straight out of the pound or a scrimmage. But as a stray like himself, he never had access to fresh, clean water to bathe in since birth, and he lived off of people's scraps at the back of a restaurant. If luck would have it, he'd have a week's worth of food if he just rummaged through the right trash bin if one of the store owners hadn't charged towards him, bristling with a broom or ladle or any object brandished, prompting him to flee.

All this time completely alone or shunned away by the public had left a void in his heart, one that had a low chance of being filled anytime soon. And Christmas only felt like an insult to injury. Christmas was a time of joy and quality time spent with loved ones and, well, he had no one. His mother had left him for (presumably) dead the moment he was brought into this cruel world, so that's out of the question. The thought of the holidays always left that sour aftertaste in his mouth like after one ate something distasteful.

Rocky remembered a time when he saw Christmas as a season of unbridled merriment and laughter where chestnuts roasted over an open fire and Jack Frost's arrival, the only rumored entity Rocky seemed to befriend by the amount of times he nipped at his nose during this chilly time of year. He remembered a time when he loved rolling around in the snow, his matted coat dappled with flakes of white. But now? Hah...he saw it as something that took every ounce of self-restraint not spit upon. Okay, so maaaaybe there was a bit of Mr. Grinch that rubbed off on him over the years but a part of him could never hold a true contempt for it. Deep down, he clinged onto the slim hope that maybe, just maybe, someone wouldn't turn a blind eye on him. But he didn't have the luxury for these futile hopes. Overall, he felt undeserving of it.

Nevermind that now. He had only one main objective. First, food. He would've gone in search of shelter from this bitterly cold weather, but his stomach growled in protest and he was left with no choice but to try and salvage some tossed leftovers. Any normal dog would've just walked through the front entrance and "puppy-eyed" for their next meal.

However, Rocky was no normal dog. At least not one that wouldn't have looks of disgust casted upon it. With a look of resignation on his face—one he wore quite often—he circled around the building and over to the back where his pot of gold awaited him, also known as the dumpster. He leaped up and was blessed with the sight of burger patties that haven't corroded yet. His sniffer picked up an unpleasant waft of rotting food and trash underneath, but it wasn't anything he hadn't already grown used to.

It would take a whole lot more than a funky stench to ward him away from what he considered a feast before him. One man's trash is another pup's treasure. He dug in without hesitation, scarfing down every burger patty he could get his paws on and some leftover bread buns. It didn't take 20 minutes for his brain to register that he was full. Figuring that he had his fill for the evening, he climbed out of the dumpster before anyone noticed.

He had his fill, now it was time to move onto the next objective: Find shelter.

No, not the typical cardboard-box-in-the-alleyway kind of shelter. One, it was either too cramped or pungent for his abused sniffer to bear. Or both. And dark, creepy alleyways were notorious for serving as the perfect place for unsavory presences to lurk in. Some were other strays like him who were much more bigger and desperate that...HE would be their supper for the evening. There was no doubt that any dog that sized up to him could take him down with minimal effort.

So his best bet was the woods. It was a little less unfavorable than the streets. The cold, empty streets with only the occasional newspaper brushing across the pavement from the gentle puff of Zephyrus' breath and Jack Frost to keep him company. He took off without a moment's hesitation, the sound of Adventure Bay citizens bustling about to get back to their warm abode to eat a deftly-prepared warm meal and to be tucked into their warm beds fading into the background, the eerie whistle of the wind taking its place.