A Meaty Christmas

Dear Santa,

I am writing to let you know how good ... er ...WONDERFUL I’ve been this year.  I’ve protected the house from intruders night and day, chased wildlife (and I do include The Cat here) from our backyard and rescued a little kid named Timmy who kept falling in the well.  (Okay, okay … but if we did have a dizzy little kid named Timmy AND a well, you know I’d be standing over it snickering ... oh, I mean BARKING for help!) 

The point is that I did it all with a bad ... well, actually CRIPPLED hip.  The folks found out in October that I had no cartilage left in my hip and it was amazing ... er ... a MIRACLE that I was able to walk at all, let alone keep the world free from cats ... um, I mean pests.  In October, I had surgery on my hip and though still recovering, I’m ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice should any disoriented ... uh ... innocent child fall into our well compost pile.

This brings me to my Christmas list, which is considerably shorter than years past.  In light of my brush with death, I have learned to value simplicity.  First, I would like dog-sized earplugs.  The Kid took up the clarinet this year and though I abhor -- I mean ADORE the Big Band sound as much as anyone, my floppy golden ears are way too sensitive.  She’s in 4th grade now and looking forward to her first class trip in the spring to Wisconsin, which couldn’t make me happier (it is the Cheese State you know!).  Please bring her some extra large luggage, big enough to haul home as much cheese as she can for her little doggie, should she think of me … back home … chewing on --- I mean PROTECTING her fancy doll collection.  Other than that, remember -- nothing says Christmas like meat!

Have yourself a furry little Christmas, Santa!  Fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!

                                       Your friend ... BEST friend,

                                                                                  Woofie