I love December. With cool, crisp evenings, frosty lawns in the morning, colored lights outlining trees and houses, and smells coming from street corners stocked with silver tips, Douglas, and scotch pines. It all makes for a dazzling mix of sensory experiences. And of course, there’s the food: sugar cookies with pink frosting, date, and nut bread with thick slices of butter, pumpkin, apple, and blueberry pies still warm from the oven. Turkey with stuffing, yams with brown sugar, artichokes with drawn butter, and Brazil, hazel, and walnuts just ready to be cracked sitting on the table.
I love the neatly wrapped packages tied up with red ribbon, stockings stuffed with tangerines, chocolates, and toys, and that special gift sitting in the attic, so large that only a bow the size of a football will do.
Yes, December is my favorite month which says a lot, for as a dog, almost every month is special. So I had to wonder why, with all the festive trimmings on every dwelling, all the cheery smiles on every face, all the eggnog mustaches on every lip.
Why was Karen crying uncontrollably in an unlit room of our home? Karen, you see, raised me from a pup, so I guess you could say she was my mother. I don’t remember my real birth mother or birth father for that matter. Karen told me she found me outside a church in a small, cotton-filled box with my umbilical cord still wrapped around me. She said she didn’t even know what kind of breed I was except I was the bestest breed in the whole world because I made her happy.
Now you see my problem. I love Karen, but I am not making her happy, I am not doing my job. Maybe I have done something wrong and it is making Karen cry and sob and cry some more. But I can’t remember doing anything wrong.
I haven’t chewed the new couch even though the leather upholstery begs me to give it a little gnaw as I walk by. I haven’t dug up anything in the backyard recently. The roses are intact, the lawn pristine, the pomegranate tree, well most of the pomegranates are still there, and the squirrel hole out by the backyard oak, although a little larger than normal, still has a live squirrel in it.
I haven’t brought her any of my playthings–dead rats, gophers, or birds–and I haven’t rolled in anything aromatic for quite some time. By my reckoning, and I’m still a little hazy about this because sometimes I must bark at people when they come to the door and sometimes I find a little snack left on the countertop, but by and large, I’ve behaved about as well as an eighteen-month-old dog can. So why was Karen sitting in a chair with all the lights out surrounded by nearly a box of used tissues?
I don’t remember many things about my youth, but I do remember a certain occasion when Karen decided that she and I would visit some neighbors around our block. She called it Halloween. That was another favorite month of mine. October. Children dressed up like witches, ghosts, pirates, werewolves, vampires, and one even dressed up like me, a dog. I wasn’t allowed to pee on anyone, even if they were dressed like a fire hydrant, at least that’s what Karen said. She thought that was very funny, so I knew she was happy. Karen put on a frilly dress, fixed her hair in pigtails, put my leash on, and walked up and down our block.
When we came to one of our neighbor’s door, she would say, “Sit, Toto.” That was a little confusing because that’s not my name. Most of the time she calls me Cole. She says I was named after Cole Younger the famous outlaw of the old west, but she never calls me Younger, just Cole. At the doors we visit, she tells our neighbors that she is lost and looking for the Yellow Brick Road so she can find the city of Oz. They laugh and she laughs and I wag my tail because I have made her happy.
I have a sister, that’s what Karen says. She is gray in her muzzle and her eyes are cloudy so she bumps into chairs and tables, especially if they have been moved for cleaning, which I am happy to say does not occur too often. As busy as Karen is with taking care of us, she doesn’t have much time to dust or vacuum. I’m not very fond of the vacuum. I see that it sucks up my old hair and all the good smells I have spent cultivating on certain parts of the floor and rug, and I imagine that if my tail ever got into its teeth, it would put me in that little plastic container.
Anyway, my sister’s name is Tess, named after Tessie James, the famous outlaw of the old west. Whenever Karen says that she laughs out loud, so I know Tess makes Karen happy too. Tess can be grouchy. She doesn’t like me borrowing her favorite toys or sniffing around her food bowl. She sleeps with Karen on the bed, but if I try to climb up, she growls and lets me know that the bed is her territory and Karen is under her protection.
Most of the time though, Tess and I get along just fine. Tess introduced me to the dog next door whose name is Christopher. Tess says he has an overactive thyroid because he jumps up and down, up and down all day long without ever barking. I think Christopher would like to bark, but his owners debarked him, that’s what Karen says and she is sad and a little mad when she says it. I wish I could jump like Christopher, but I’m glad I can bark.
Tess also introduced me to an animal that only comes by after dark. She said that Karen really liked the smell of this animal and that I should try to make friends with it. Well, that was easier said than done. When I barked hello, this animal raised its tail and turned around. Then he sprayed me with some very smelly stuff that made my eyes sting. I found out that Tess was mistaken. Karen was not at all pleased with my new odor.
During the day, Karen often leaves for a long time. Karen says she is paying the devil his dues. I’m not sure I know what that means, but when Karen leaves, Tess and I sleep a lot. At first, I didn’t like to sleep because there were too many new smells, sights, and sounds around the house that I had never experienced, so I would watch Tess as she slept. Tess would run after squirrels and yip her funny yip like when she had a sore throat and couldn’t bark very well. I asked Tess if she ever caught one of those squirrels in her dreams, but she just looked at me like I was too young to understand much.
All over the house, Karen has pictures of Tess when she was young, Tess at the beach, Tess getting a bath, and Tess watching t.v. There are no other pictures except one of me and Tess and a big fat man with a long white beard and dressed in a red suit. I remember when we took that one. I growled at the man because he said people sure have funny ideas about Christmas cards. Karen wasn’t laughing, so I knew he didn’t make her happy.
In the last couple of weeks, Karen and Tess go out together in the car, and when they return, Tess is shaking all over and smells different. She won’t talk with me for the whole day, so I know she’s pretty upset.
It’s getting late. I can tell because most of the Christmas lights have been turned off. Karen didn’t turn ours on tonight, so the house is even darker than usual. The only sounds left in the house are the clock on the wall, which ticks loudly and every hour sounds like a different bird, and Karen sobbing in her chair holding one of Tess’s stuffed toys.
I know that Tess lets Karen share her toys, but this one is making her sad, so I don’t think Tess should keep it any longer. Tonight while Karen and Tess are asleep, I’ll tear it up in the backyard.
It’s time for Karen to go to bed. I know that because when the owl on the clock hoots, she usually picks up Tess and they head upstairs to bed. But the owl hooted some time ago and I haven’t seen Tess anywhere, and Karen is now crying quietly.
I need to make Karen happy, so I go up to her and put my nose in her lap. I leave it there and after a while, her hand begins to rub my ears. I lick her hand so she will know that I love her. After a while, she takes my head in both her hands and kisses me. I think that’s what Karen means when she says that Christmas is a time for loving.
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