Hooray for the holidays! It’s the hap-happiest season of all, as the song goes. First, there’s Thanksgiving—a dog’s favorite holiday. What with all the table scraps doled out, unattended plates ripe for the taking, and platters to prewash before they’re loaded in the dishwasher, it’s no wonder that dogs can be hap-happiest this time of year. If your pup likes people, it’s dog heaven as the holidays bring a parade of visitors coming and going, all bringing fresh hands to pet with and the admiration that only fresh eyes bring. A secure dog knows that in its dog-friendly house, no visitor who does not adore animals will gain entrance, so it’s a safe bet that it will be a love fest, and the family dog is a favored recipient of all that affection. People get mushy and sentimental over the holidays and the opportunistic dog aims to get its fair share of both.
“The bottom line is, no glass was shattered, no property damaged, no food burned, and no people injured… ”
Then there’s Christmas. A household dedicated to its canine family members will undoubtedly not leave it off the gift list. In our household, we get frozen raw cow bones from the butcher department, and our Daisy gets a big one on Christmas day. We hang a stocking for her too, and in it we tuck savory treats, sometimes even people jerky. For our previous fetch-frenzied dogs, a new bucket of tennis balls would appear under the tree, and the living room floor would be filled with them on Christmas Day. You could hardly take a step without tripping over balled-up wrapping paper or set a tennis ball to rolling across the floor.
Once, we got a nifty glow-in-the-dark Frisbee equipped with varying patterns of light action. The gift was supposed to be for all three of our Labradors, but it was really Toby who got weak in the knees over the toss of a Frisbee. It was a bit pricey, but the razzle-dazzle of the lights was deemed worth it. On Christmas night, we donned jackets and gloves and ventured outdoors to give it a try. All the family was present to witness this innovative nighttime game of fetch. I got to serve the first throw. The dogs were wired, tight on their haunches, ready to spring into action. Toby especially. I set the lights to ‘strobe’ and all present—human and canine observers—watched as it arched in the air. It landed about 30 feet up the hillside, and Toby was hot on its trail. The only visible light in that frigid night was the distant pattern of stars and the flashing, multicolored strobe lights from the fancy Frisbee. We watched Toby track and then pounce on it, scratch at its edges to get a grip, and then carry it not back to us for another throw, but further up the hill beyond reach. He went far up the hillside in pitch dark, into perilous terrain. And there, he demolished the brand-new toy. No amount of calling, coaxing or cajoling would get him to return. And none of us wanted to brave the treacherous trek up the hillside after him. It only took minutes, but he did not give up until the lights flickered out, like the death of a fairy. It was quite sad to witness—first the joyous launch—followed by the sad death only moments later. We did not buy another.
This Thanksgiving just past, our guests brought a small Border Terrier named Harry. Daisy and Harry hadn’t met before that day. Being busy in the kitchen, it was left to the men to take charge of introductions and diffuse any dog disagreements. Preferably outside. There was a bit of dodge and grumble, but in minutes, they got along famously. We have a dog door, which allows Daisy the freedom to come and go into a generous fenced enclosure when we’re home. It has a blocking sliding door that is most convenient when we want her to stay indoors (a moose-free zone) or outdoors where her shenanigans won’t cause harm. Being somewhat chained to the kitchen, I only observed at a distance the run and chase going on in the living room. Daisy has developed a loop of bursting through the dog door, racing across the floor and leaping onto the lovely suede chair under the window that looks out over the driveway. To protect the chair, I’ve laid a small sheepskin across the ottoman and a matching fleece blanket over the arm that has become her perch. There is no saving the window itself from nose prints and sneeze marks. The need for daily window cleaning is the bane of my existence. Truth be told, I don’t actually get to it daily. I do work full time, after all. The point is, rather than change her pattern to accommodate her surprise guest, Daisy recruited him to follow her path and the two of them tore through the track outside, back in and over the chair—all at breakneck speeds.
With a scant glance at the shenanigans, I shook my head and went back to basting the turkey and mashing the potatoes. Being the matriarch of a large family, I have learned to dictate and to ignore what isn’t within my sphere. The latter is the better survival technique. There was a bit of each this day. The bottom line is, no glass was shattered, no property damaged, no food burned, and no people injured, so I declare it all an unmitigated success. The other thing I have learned is to take the wins, large or small.
Daisy had a play fellow so captivating that she expended every ounce of her energy entertaining him and was utterly exhausted after all the guests cleared out. She sprawled out on the bed like a starfish and didn’t even lift her head or twitch the tip of her tail when we came to bed. We had to push her with our feet to find enough room for our own slumber. So exhausted was she that she let herself be molded by our needs with nary an objection.
The next morning, she kept patrolling the edges of the fence in the hopes that her play fellow would return. Yes, it was chaos, but I would look around at the aftermath in forming an opinion on the holiday as a whole: guests departed full to the gills, kitchen clean, dishwasher running, leftovers shared judiciously, dog utterly exhausted, and enough wine leftover for a nightcap. All things considered, I’d call the first of the three holidays 2024 a success. Now, onto Christmas. Happy Holidogs, everyone.
