As we worked our way through the holiday season, I was prepared for the onslaught of Christmas music, Christmas decorations, and Christmas sales. What I was not prepared for, was the Christmas sweaters…
“Excuse me,” I said to the lady with a unhappy looking pug wearing a Christmas romper with writing on it. “What does it say on your dog’s sweater?”
“’I party with Santa,’” she beamed, lovingly petting the pug on the head. I couldn’t be certain, but I was pretty sure he was unhappy because he was dressed in a sweater that said, “I party with Santa.”
I grinned. “Well, he looks quite dashing in his Christmas sweater. I’m sure he waits eagerly all year to be able to wear that sweater!”
She scooped up the dog and smothered him with kisses. “Oh, this isn’t his only Christmas sweater,” she assured me. The pug snarled. “He has lots of them! He LOVES his Christmas sweaters, don’t you, Rudolph?”
The pug looked up at me to acknowledge that yes, he not only had to wear a silly Christmas sweater, he also had a silly Christmas name.
“Hmmm, you named him for the reindeer, didn’t you?” I asked the pug owner.
“Of course,” she said. “He was born on Christmas! He’s our special Christmas puppy!” While she was obviously delighted by this, I was confident Rudolph couldn’t give two kibbles that he was born on Christmas.
“Do you have any other dogs?” I asked her.
“Yes, we have another pug named Shamrock.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I bet,” I ventured, “… that Shamrock was born on St. Patrick’s Day.”
She beamed at me. “He WAS!”
“So where is Shamrock today,” I asked her.
“He won a free grooming from our dog spa. Luck of the Irish, you know?” she grinned.
I smiled. Rudolph sighed. Even Donner and Blitzen couldn’t get him out of this situation.
I was confident Rudolph couldn’t give two kibbles
that he was born on Christmas.
I actually could really empathize with Rudolph. I was born on Christmas Eve and the nurses all wanted my mother to name me Holly or Merry. They wrapped me in a green and red swaddling blanket and tied me up with a festive bow before sending me home. After that I was destined to receive Christmas-themed birthday presents for the rest of my life.
While we continued to chat, the pug owner put Rudolph down and he sniffed around a nearby tree. Suddenly, he lifted his leg and did what dog’s do next to trees, soaking his Christmas romper in the process.
“Oh no, Rudolph, you dirtied your Christmas sweater!!” she exclaimed. “We’re going to have to take it off.”
As she bent down to unsnap the sweater, the pug stopped snarling and barked his approval.
I’m pretty sure he said, “ Merry Christmas sweater to all, and to all a good riddance.”
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