The fat guy is scary or how my dog ate Santa

Posted on December 21st, 2011

Happy Holidays! And to get all my last minute stuff done (yes, I know I said I was done, but really I just realized I never sent out cards and the cookies have been eaten, so more burnt offerings must be sacrificed for Santa). Anyway, that’s why I’m running repeats this week. This is one of my favorites, which was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: A Dog’s Life.

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So here’s the deal. I’m not the human that usually writes this blog. I’m the dog, Kirby, the smart one in the pack. The female human, the human that the teen male calls “Mom,” is busy. She says she’s doing holiday stuff, but between you and me, she’s suffering from severe cookie overdose.

Look, it’s been a stressful season, I’ll tell you. First of all, there’s a dead, fat guy dressed in a red suit on the lawn every single morning. Now you’d think the humans would be upset, but each morning when I go out to bark at the dead guy, the female human yells, “For pete’s sake Kirby, it’s just deflated.” Believe me, I know from dead. And that guy in the red suit isn’t just deflated.

But here’s the real problem. The dead guy comes back to life every night. And he looks really happy about it. There’s a bunch of little skinny guys with him. I don’t much about fashion, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in their pointy shoes. Anyway, being the dog and thus the defender of the home, I run outside when the dead guy stands up. And what do I get for it? Hello—I get yelled at to be quiet. Even the teen male, my favorite human of all time because he shares something called “fries” with me, yells. (Trust me, you haven’t lived until you’ve had fries. They’re better than that low-cal dog food the mom human gives me every day.)

But you know what? It just gets worse. I mean, the dead guy is bad, but there’s also a deer out there. And that deer is really, really sneaky. He stands completely still all day long and then at night BOOM! He lights up like Vegas and starts lifting his head up and down. So I bark at him…but from a safe distance. Take it from me; you don’t want to mess with a deer. Those horns can hurt.

And that’s not all. We also have a huge pink bird that waves its head around. Every night when I go outside for my walk, I don’t even sniff at the pink bird. It scares me. It’s wearing a hat like the dead guy wears and dragging around a sleigh.  Yeah, I don’t get it either.

And then there are all these red flowers around called “pointy ettas.” We had a really nice one that smelled really good. So I ate it. Well, heck, what would you do? It smelled nice, it looked good and it was soft and chewy. It wasn’t anything like the stinkbugs or mice I usually eat.

But after I ate it I didn’t feel so hot. Kind of like that one time I ate too many stinkbugs and threw up all over the couch. The mom human saw the remains of the pointy etta and started freaking out and I ended up in the car. Fortunately I barfed the pointy etta up right as I got onto the leather seats, so I didn’t have to go all the way to that awful place where they stick a thermometer up my butt even when I’m not sick.

After that I decided that if it smelled nice, I wouldn’t eat it. So that’s why I ate some berry looking things that were on the lower branches of the tree—which, by the way, isn’t a real tree. But the humans act like it is. I don’t get it. They drag it in here and the smell of plastic is overwhelming.  It gets in my nostrils and pretty soon I have to go outside and sniff around the backyard for an hour or two just to feel better.

So anyway, I ate those red things and they turned out to be something the mom human called Styrofoam.  The dad human said something about it expanding in my stomach. So I had to get in the car again. But don’t worry. I barfed it up, this time on the mom human. The mom human said she was really happy I was okay, but her eyes were leaking water. I don’t know why. It smelled really good in the car.

But the mom human says this will all be over with soon. I can’t wait. Once the all the weird stuff is gone, I can get back to my normal life—you know, eating stinkbugs and mice and barfing on the good chair in the family room.

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