A Dog’s Christmas

I already wrote a post about how much I loved Thanksgiving, but I have to tell you that I loved Christmas even more!  It began when Mom started baking Christmas cookies in early December, and I learned that if I sat and stared at her with big, pitiful eyes, she would usually let me have a little taste of one.  I also learned that Mom is a bit of klutz who often drops stuff on the floor when she’s cooking, and that if I move really fast, I can snatch it up and eat it before she stops me.  So one way or another, I got to sample every batch of cookies that came out of the kitchen.

M79Qb91dQvWsXuyBi9Lo%QEven better, I heard that if I was a really, really, good dog (and I am, because snarfing up cookies that are spilled on the floor doesn’t count as being bad), I could expect a gift or two from Santa Dog on Christmas morning.  I even got my very own stocking to hang on the mantle so that Santa Dog would be sure to remember me.

I also found out that Christmas isn’t celebrated on just one day.  My parents had lots of friends and family over all through December, and all of those visits meant delicious food was served.  The best part was that not all of the guests believed in my parents’ “no food for dogs at the table” rule,  so lots of them slipped me a little tidbit when they thought my parents weren’t looking.  And afterwards, I was always in the kitchen to lend a paw in cleaning up and dealing with the leftovers.

There was just one part of Christmas that I didn’t really care for.  About a week before Christmas day, Mom told me that I needed a bath because I smelled.  And she was right, I did have a distinct aroma…a blend of wet fur, all the things in the yard I found to roll in, and a general doggie odor.  In other words, I smelled great!  Why she thought I needed a bath, I’ll never know, but she hauled me to the nearest dog wash and plunked me right in the tub.   The less said about the actual bath, the better.  I’ve heard the mind has a way of blocking out traumatic experiences, and I’m hoping that is true.  Except for the part where Mom accidentally turned on the water when she had the nozzle pointed right at her face, because that was pretty funny.

The best part of Christmas, though, was the actual day.  I went to bed extra early the night before because I heard Santa Dog only comes if you’re asleep, and I didn’t even budge from my dog bed when Mom and Dad came home late from the Christmas Eve service. And it worked!  I had two toys under the tree and some dog biscuits in my stocking on Christmas morning.  We also had family over for opening presents and breakfast, which was delicious.   Later that afternoon, my two doggie cousins came over to play and we had a terrific time running all over the yard.

Getting together with friends and family, sharing delicious food and cookies, getting wonderful presents…..how could I possibly not love Christmas?  It’s my favorite holiday, and I can’t wait to do it all over again next year!!

Love, Finn

Sometimes It’s Right To Be Wrong

DSC03338I still remember how upset I was when my son, who was then in his Junior year of college, called me to tell me he had acquired a dog.  At the time he was living  200 miles from home in an apartment building that did not allow dogs, was a full-time student, and also played racquetball for the university, which required some travel on weekends.  I didn’t see how he could possibly provide a good home for a dog, and as a volunteer at the local Humane Society, I knew how often dogs that are bought or adopted on impulse are turned in at animal shelters.  My son got quite an earful as I rattled off all the reasons why adding Frankie to his life was not a good idea for either of them.

When I calmed down enough to listen to him, my son told me that Frankie had desperately needed a new home, as the person who was listing him for free on Craig’s List (always a horrible idea for any animal) said that he had been returned to the breeder after being attacked by another dog, and had spent the previous, very cold, winter living in an outdoor run.  When my son picked him up, he was scarred, filthy and terrified. That made me agree that my son had done the right thing to rescue Frankie out of that situation, but I still didn’t believe that he should keep the dog.  I told him not to expect any help from us, unless he wanted to find Frankie another home, in which case I’d pull in every favor I had coming to make sure he found a good and loving home this time.

IMG_0028But my son was determined to keep his new dog.  He moved to another apartment building that allowed dogs, took Frankie to the vet to have him neutered, wormed and vaccinated, and bought all the necessary supplies.  We met Frankie for the first time when my son brought him home for Christmas break, and I had to admit that he was awfully cute and very sweet.  I was determined not to get attached to the little guy, but I failed miserably.  Even Lucy, who as a rule hated having any dog other than Sandy in her house, eventually made friends with Frankie.  As long as he lets her be the boss, (and he does) they get along quite well.

IMG_0182Frankie lived with us for about a year after my son graduated from college, until my son bought his own house and moved into it, taking Frankie with him. By then, I liked Frankie so much that I was secretly hoping he would leave Frankie with us, and I did mention how lonely I thought Frankie would be since my son and his girlfriend would be at work all day.  Sadly for me, but happily for Frankie, they solved that problem by adopting another dog to keep him company. Frankie bonded with his new sister, Roxy, very quickly, and they are now best friends.

I still see Frankie often, as my son lives close by and I am often the designated dog-sitter, so I get to enjoy Frankie’s lively, playful personality.  He’s not the smartest dog around, but he’s happy, loving, and always ready for a snuggle.  And I just love the joyous, proud way that he prances along on his walks as if he is quite sure he’s on his way to somewhere wonderful. I have told my son that if for any reason he can no longer keep Frankie, he is coming back to live with us.  It’s painful for me to admit it, but my son was right and I was wrong:  Frankie definitely belongs in our family.DSC01614