As you all know, Christmas is my favorite holiday. Unfortunately, due to my dear ole' dad's aversion to the "Roman-pagan" celebration, my immediate family has never taken part. Sure, we go to the grandparents' every year, and we listen to Christmas music, and we make sugar cookies and ham dinners. But heaven forbid a tree or garlands or even a few lights should find their way into our home. Which is fine. It's not like I'm resentful or anything...
But this year I have my own place, and what daddy don't know won't hurt 'im. As you can imagine, my holiday cheer knew no bounds. I found myself a hand-me-down tree and some cheapo ornaments and plugged the thing in. My apartment now looks like Times Square. I even made a wreath, out of real fir and pine leaves! Can't you tell I'm broke!
I must say I was quite proud of myself. There was a tree, and all it needed was presents to sit underneath. So I stuck a few that I had received from relatives under its boughs, along with a snickers bar I had wrapped up for my sister, who is coming to visit for the holidays. Now my happy Christmas scene was complete. Just add family! So off I went to run a few errands.
Well my dog Biscuit decided to take his Christmas early. He's a nine-pound yorkie-maltese who thinks that the entire floor is his food bowl. Great for cooking messes. Not so much for the snickers. Yes, my dog ate my sister's Christmas present. Who'da thunk he has such an excellent sense of smell?
As you can imagine, I freaked out. I wasn't sure if I should beat the mutt or lovingly cuddle him in farewell. I called the vet and she said to wait. So I waited, apprehensive, for his demise. But apparently my dog is immune to chocolate. He moped about for a few hours, and a few days later delivered a peanut present of his own.
Merry Christmas to you too, BIscuit.
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