It is the season for Christmas tales, and I have a great one. Many years ago we went to my mom’s house in Phoenix for Christmas. I came down to stay with my folks, and had the girlfriend (who is now the wife) come with me… and her dog. This was a big trip for me, because it was the first big integration of girlfriend and parents. I was eager for my mom to like my girlfriend, and my girlfriend to like my mom. We wanted to bring her dog. My mom was not thrilled. A week of cooking and food and presents everywhere was not exciting for her to have a dog there the whole time. We assured her this was an amazing dog who could do no wrong. It was true until this Christmas eve.
We had no yard in Phx, see. The dog had to stay in the house. Where to put the Maury girl? Don’t want to lock her in a room, give her the whole house. I promise she will most likely not shit up the house and climb on the counters. We had ALL the Christmas presents wrapped and under the tree. The Christmas tree was a few rooms away from the first door when you come in the house. We went shopping, and were of course gone WAY longer than anticipated. Then, we come home and find this:
Oh lordie, my dog done and ruined Christmas. As we got closer to the room with the presents and the tree, there was more paper… and a hiding dog. This is super, duper bad. I mean, of course she was a super good dog… but how could we expect her to be perfect? Really, this isn’t the dog’s fault. To paraphrase Chris Rock, the dog just went dog. No, this was really our fault. My mom was good enough to explain this as we approached. You know that cloud of profanity hanging over Cleveland from a Christmas story? Yeah, I think my mom’s is right next to it.
Now we are around the tree, assessing the damage.
It was, um, fine. Completely and totally fine.
Not a single present was ruined or even de-wrapped. All I saw was dog toys. Now, here is what happened. My mom, being the best mom ever, actually bought my stupid dog some presents. I did not know this, nor did Renee. Maury girl, however, apparently did know this. She found every wrapped dog toy and opened it. Then, played with it. It was the most wonderful and strange thing. I mean… how did she know those were dog presents? I still can’t figure that out. Ever since, then, though, my mo wraps a present for Maury girl and puts it under her tree. Maury girl has since long passed away, but it is still my mom’s favorite Christmas story, and I think it might be mine, too.
Merry Christmas, America! I love you. Thank you for being here and reading and sharing. You keep me going!