Sweetie’s Guide To Surviving Christmas
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As Christmas approaches, my human has been bustling around with boxes full of decorations, swagging garland everywhere and singing off-key songs about jingle bells and angels on high while making lists for everything except gifts for yours truly. Typical.
Then there was the night she ignored the part about “assemble outdoors only” on the glitter deer meant for the front yard. She said it was cold and dark, so apparently that made all warnings optional. She hauled the box into the living room and went right to work. Snack Dad wandered in, took one look, and started helping like this was a perfectly reasonable plan.
I settled into my favorite chair and watched from a very safe distance because at this point I am clearly the only one in the family with any sense. Sure enough, the glitter started coming off those deer like they were shedding their winter coats. By the time they finished, the living room looked like someone had set off one of those glitter traps people use to scare off porch pirates, only this one had my human and Snack Dad standing proudly in the middle of it.
To my fellow dogs, I say this: you will never fully understand your human. But keeping an eye on them is a full-time job, and if you love them, you follow them through every sparkly mess they make.
Now don’t get me wrong, I know I have it good. I have a comfortable couch, technically hers, but we have agreed the best spot belongs to whoever gets there first. I have a yard full of squirrels to supervise with Snack Dad and a human who, while sometimes exasperatingly slow with treat delivery and far too fond of scented candles and throw pillows, loves me with all her heart.
Still, if we are being honest, my human could make a few small improvements. She might start by consulting me before rearranging the furniture, because my sunporch chair had the best squirrel-viewing angle until that ceramic Christmas tree showed up on the table beside it. And let’s talk about walk schedules. I am not saying she is falling down on the job, but if I had a dollar for every time this past month I heard “later,” I could hire a personal trainer.
Even with her occasional lapses in service, I will give her credit for getting a lot of things right. The house smells like delicious food, Christmas music drifts through the rooms, and my blanket on the couch is always waiting for me.
So tonight, as the tree lights glimmer, the fireplace crackles, and I curl up beside her while she gets teary-eyed watching Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye in White Christmas for the third time this week, I think this is what Christmas feels like. Warm. Safe. Loved.
Maybe it’s the time of year, or maybe it was that extra dog biscuit, but it got me thinking.
This Christmas, I want every dog to have what I have, which is a human to love, protect, and occasionally side-eye for questionable decisions. Like the matching reindeer pajamas she got for the two of us. The ones with little antlers printed all over them. (And before you ask, no, there will not be pictures.)
I want every wagging tail to have someone who scratches behind their ears just right. I want every nose to have a car window to stick out of on long Sunday afternoon rides. I want every paw to have a soft spot to land at the end of the day.
If Santa’s listening, please make sure every dog has a full belly, a soft blanket, and somewhere warm and safe to sleep. And the cats, well, they deserve that too. Even the one up the street who thinks it’s funny to sit in my driveway and stare at me. It’s Christmas, after all.
Remember that the best gifts aren’t under the tree. They’re curled up beside you, snoring softly and dreaming of turkey.
