SUKI - THE PALACE DOG

Suki is a Shih Tzu. She was a victim of my stupidity. I threw some dog treats on the ground for her and Elsie, my American Staffordshire Terrier. There was no fight, no hostility - Elsie ate hers and reached for another. It was in Suki's mouth at the time. She bit down and snapped Suki's lower jaw in half. Suki had to be driven 200 miles away as soon as we left our local vet in order to have her jaw amputated. It was my fault. She gets along fine, but no thanks to me.

JACK - MY PACKMATE

Jack is a Parson Russel Terrier (formly known as Jack Russel Terriers). He is the most dominating dog I've ever owned. He thinks that he is above me in pack heirarchy. He protects his interest in me the best he can. Whenever anybody comes near me he will jump up on me and growl until 1. they go away or 2. he gets knocked off me. Every night he burrows under the covers in bed with me and then growls if I dare move and disturb him. A lion in a 7 pound body. GRRRRR!

Stop. Do NOT throw blood on me. Do NOT call PETA. Its faux fur. It is pink however and I've been waiting for weeks for the first snow to fall so I would have an excuse to wear it. That was tonight, the night before Thanksgiving 2005. There might be seven inches by morning. I'm just waiting for there to be enough to justify my pink faux fur snowpants. JUST KIDDING. I think...

The Christmas Village Surprise

I love Christmas. I named my daughter Savannah NOELLE, thats how much I love Christmas. I spend hours of my life's moments creating an idealistic miniature Christmas Village every year. I painted the buildings myself. Farm animals stand next to hay bales in mangers near the barn festooned in evergreen bows. A toy shop window glints with carefully painted shiney toys. A church stands on a hill created with a shoebox laid under the mantel of angel hair snow. Pine trees line a small town square where a trio of Christmas carolers are standing side by side with their carol books in their hands, mouths wide open in whats obviously one hell of a loud rendition of "O Come All Ye Faithful". A fiddle player stands nearby, his elbow high as he draws his bow across his instrument. A drummer boy beats a rat a tat tat while his dog sits nearby, a bow tied to his collar.

One day I came home and stopped to admire my idealistic Christmas scene. It always made me smile, and dream a little dream of peace, love, and christmas cookies. My eyes sent a message to my brain. "WARNING, WARNING, CHRISTMAS VIBE AMISS, DANGER - SANTA AIN'T COMING TO THIS TOWN." - What was wrong?

I looked carefully at each and every aspect of the scene. The trees were standing, the buildings in place, the fiddler was playing, the drummer boy drumming, the carolers were.....

I leaned in for a closer look, sure I'd been mistaken. No, there it was, clear as if the drummer boy's dog had taken a dump on the pristine white snow. There was a head laying in one of the open books of the carolers. Its mouth was opened wide in what I'd previously thought of as the "OOOOOOO" in "O Come All Ye Faithful". Now it just looked like a rigor mortised scream. I raised my eyes and saw that the head lay in the open book of a caroler with a neck stem and nothing above it.

Nobody would ever admit to some sort of rough housing gone awry scenario. Then again, nobody would ever 'fess up to the cuckoo clock tragedy. But thats another story.

The Christmas Village lives on, but its a place of instrumentals now.

The Christmas Gift

There is another story that shares the same title. Its a touching tale of true love and sacrifice, and the sweet irony that follows ultimate good intentions.
This isn't that story.

Having a young daughter leads to Christmas being a real source of all things Barbie. Having an odd sense of humor leads to these gifts becoming twisted shadows of their former wholesome selves. One particular favorite was Gymnastic Barbie. She came with a parallel bar set up, and a remote control. When you put her hands on little pegs on the top bar of the gymnastic equipment she would draw her legs up in a pike position and perform as many UP AND OVER's (I'm sure there's a gymnastic word for that, that I can't recall) as you chose to have her do - with just the push of a button on the remote control. A few hours after Gymnastic Barbie was opened my daughter grew bored with her and moved on to something else. I decided to give it a whirl.

Everything was going fine until Gymnist Barbie wasn't properly placed for a good handhold. Down she fell to the ground, but the remote had already been pushed. Thats when Gymnist Barbie forever became known as Paralysis Barbie. With her hands and arms stiffly before her, she drew up her back legs, her plastic barbie butt - with the flowered flesh colored extruded panites (she had, of course, become naked almost immediately upon being taken from her box) - thrusting high into the air. Her torso moved forward a few inches, her hips fell back towards the ground. The remote control was pushed, her butt once again reached for the sky as her legs were drawn up in what would have resulted in a really fine UP AND OVER, if only she'd been on the parallel bars. Over and over she made excrutiatingly slow progress across the floor with her peculiar stiff limbed, pike position crawl. It was great.

Paralysis Barbie was an even bigger hit than Gymnist Barbie, and it only got better when the dog ate the hands and feet off of Malibu Skipper and she was renamed Amputee Skipper and was the perfect audience for her sister's efforts.

Merry Christmas.