A Reindeer for Christmas
A Seasonal Story
The snow started falling a little before sunrise. I was aware that the sun rose later on this day, in fact, than any other day of the year, and somehow that thought filled my mind while I watched out the bedroom window at the first snowflakes coming down.
I couldn’t tell you how I knew, but I knew. The view was better from the living room. I charged out of the bedroom and dashed down the hallway. I slowed down just before entering the kitchen, which wrapped around a corner and had two doors at right angles to one another. If I hit the linoleum just right, I could slide out going around the corner and temporarily lose control going into the dining room. This morning, I hit the kitchen a little too fast and I clawed at the floor with my paws trying redirect my trajectory without sliding too far and overshooting the door to the dining room. I’d collided with the dishwasher more than once attempting this same feat.
As I kicked at the floor, I noticed for the first time a pattern of scratch marks in the linoleum leading in a curve around from one door to the other. The marks were heavier in the apex of the curve, where I tended to lose control. I pondered this. Neither my master, nor the lady of the house, had claws. Their small children, even the very small one which moved around on four limbs instead of two, were also not in the possession of claws. I decided my master must be in the habit of wearing his boots in the kitchen after walking outside, and that the marks had been made by rocks stuck in his treads.
Still, this explanation wasn’t exactly satisfying, because I didn’t see any marks anywhere else in the kitchen, and he spent a lot of time walking to the fridge to grab a beer. Nor, for that matter, had I seen any such marks anywhere else in the house.
I just barely made it through the doorway, glancing slightly off the leftward doorjamb. I shot through the dining room and nearly tripped over a pile of Legos the little master of the house had left by his father’s chair. But I made it into the living room, where large panes of glass filled two entire walls. Merely in the time it took me to transit the house – which I knew was less than the time it took the lady of the house to reheat her tea in the microwave, having timed it myself – the snow had begun falling harder. Big flakes were coming down now. Some of them stuck to the glass and melted into drops of water. I sat on my haunches and watched the yard, waiting to see if any squirrels were out.
As I watched the snow fall, I noticed that my bladder was full. I suppose it was the power of suggestion. Perhaps if I barked, the master of the house would wake up and take me for a walk. He would probably complain that I was barking at squirrels in the yard again, but this had worked in the past.
I gave a tiny yelp. Nothing happened for several minutes, but then the little lady of the house wandered out of her room and came down to sit next to me on the floor in the living room. She was quiet, and she petted me softly and watched the snow. Now that she weighed more than forty pounds, I was glad that she had given up the habit of sitting on my back like I was a horse. But that littlest master was just beginning to take his first steps on two feet and I knew it was only a matter of time before he took up the practice himself.
Unfortunately, the little lady was too small to take my leash down from the closet and take me outside, so I had to hold it until her parents were awake. Eventually, I gave up and went to whine and scratch at the door. The master of the house came out of his bedroom and looked at me and said something about it being his wife’s turn. Then he went back into his bedroom. The lady of the house came out and shook her head at me, but she took the leash down and put it on and led me outside. She looked very cold standing there in her nightgown and snow boots, with the falling flakes melting on her bare arms. I made sure to hurry up and go as soon as we were out of the door for her sake.
When we went back inside, she shivered and went to go heat up some tea. I knew I was free until breakfast, and ran back into the living room to watch the snow. Of course, in the intervening time, the little master had arisen and set up a small fortress with his Legos right in my path, which tripped me up as I tore into the living room. I yelped and he yelled something at me which sounded suspiciously like, “bad dog.” But he went back to rebuilding his fortress as soon as I had recovered from the fall, and was seated next to his sister, who petted my head again.
The two children remained in these positions until their parents called them for breakfast, which was pancakes and syrup since today was a Saturday and they weren’t going anywhere.
After breakfast, they dressed me in one of those red velvet Christmas outfits. It came with a hat which had a white fluffy ball on top. The little lady of the house tugged it down over my ears, which made me yelp. The red outfit was trimmed in white fluff, too, which the humans all seemed to think was just the best thing since Adam invented the wheel. I thought the whole kit looked ridiculous and I was embarrassed to be seen wearing it, but what could I do? They fed and boarded me and it wasn't like I had any prospects of better employment at this time of life.
So I dutifully trotted around the house wearing the red velvet, which made the little lady hug me more often and the little master hit me in what I took to be his way of showing affection. He was getting to the age when this might become a problem if he didn't learn to hit more softly.
The master of the house took me for a walk in the snow. I hoped none of my friends would see me wearing the red velvet outfit. Unfortunately, as soon as we stepped outside, I saw the Grobergs walking Dino. He looked at me. He was wearing one of those collars with bells all over it and they had dressed him in this ugly green cardigan. He smirked at me and I smirked at him. My master waved, but kept me away from Dino, perhaps worried he and I would try to pull each other's sweaters off. He was right about that, by the way. We would have.
The snow was very cold, and it melted into my hat, which soon became damp. This made me cold. I had been doing fine with the snow on my snout and tail and paws, but having a cold cloth on your forehead in a snowstorm is not what I considered a good time. Even in a light snowstorm. I began to whine.
"What?" asked my master. I wished I could tell him that dogs didn't need to wear sweaters. Our fur was designed to keep us warm and putting clothes on us interfered with our bodies’ natural ability to regulate temperature. But he didn't understand terrier, so I just looked back in the direction of the house. It looked very far away, almost forlorn now. It took him a minute, but he grasped my meaning.
"You want to go home?"
I tugged the leash in the direction of the house.
"Okay, Roger," he said. "We can go home."
By the time we arrived home, the kids were mounting an expedition to scale the back of the couch in the den. This proved unsuccessful, with the result that the little master fell on his sister right as we walked in the door. The both seemed to think this was the funniest thing since the first human child pulled the first dog's tail. Their mother looked at her husband, who was taking my leash off.
"Susie, Henry, I'm going to make hot chocolate," she said.
They jumped to their feet and started cheering. I don't know why the master and lady of the house thought the hot chocolate was going to calm their children down. They should have known by now that between the sugar and the sheer excitement of anticipation, the two children would invariably be shifted into an even higher gear, which would no doubt try their parents' patience even more. I wondered what it would be like once the littlest master was old enough to have hot chocolate. Fortunately, after the two had hot chocolate, their mother kicked them outside to go play in the snow until they were cold.
I was glad when the lady of the house kicked the two older children outside to play. I was less glad when they decided to take me, although at least the master of the house had the forethought to remove my sopping red velvet coat first. Strictly speaking, I am an indoor dog. I go outside to take care of my business, but not for pleasure. I enjoy watching snowfall through the window, safely behind a sheet of double-paned glass, preferably curled up over the vent where the heat comes out.
But the two children did not understand my yelps, and so they managed to pull me outside into the back yard, which has a fence so I can run around without a leash. Not that I need a fence to keep me in. I know where my bread is buttered. I wouldn’t last a day out on my own.
The snow had begun falling harder, and for several minutes the children chased each other around and I chased them around until I warmed up and found myself panting. The sight of snowflakes landing on my tongue delighted the little lady, who promptly mimicked me, sticking out her own tongue to catch snowflakes. Her brother saw this, tried it for all of three seconds, and then bent down to roll a snowball. Having observed these two for their entire lives, I saw this coming from a mile away, but apparently the little lady was taken by surprise. I thought she was going to start crying, but instead she rolled a snowball of her own and threw it back.
The two of them dashed about throwing snow at each other and giggling for a few minutes, until they decided to turn their attention to me. I started running and managed to stay ahead of the snowballs, but this only encouraged them. I was dodging snowballs and losing traction in the snow when their father stepped out onto the porch, wearing tall boots and a flappy hat that covered his ears.
“Hey,” he said. “Leave Fido alone. Can’t you see he doesn’t want to play this game? Why don’t you two make a snowman?”
The children were still at the age when the voice of their father might as well have been the voice of God and they immediately ceased. I was glad because they’d backed me into a corner of the fence and I was running out of room. Their father explained that if each of them rolled a snowball on the ground until it picked up enough snow to push, the three of them could each make one section of a snowman. He ended up having to do most of the pushing, because the children were unable to push their snowballs once they couldn’t see over them. He also had to stack the snowballs on top of one another, and I saw him grimace as he lifted his son’s middle section.
He sent the children back inside to find their mother and see if she had a hat or a carrot they could use to decorate the snowman. While we waited, he came over and squatted down to pat my head.
“Some snow, huh, Fido?” he asked.
I yelped. I was cold and wanted to go inside. I wanted to lay down on top of my vent and dry off.
“Yeah, sure is pretty,” he said.
It would still be pretty from inside. And I would be warm and dry.
“You know, I think sometimes about uprooting the family and heading up to Vermont. It would be like this every day in the winter up there.”
That sounded cold to me. At that moment, the lady of the house came out, dressed in a tasteful white jacket and a fetching scarf. She was also wearing one of those flappy hats like her husband. Their daughter had managed to lose her hat in the snow already, but she appeared not to notice the water dripping from her hair.
“So this is what you’ve been doing out here all morning,” she said in that voice mothers always use when their children are showing them something. The little lady ran back and forth between her mother and the snowman while her older brother tried to tug his mother along faster into the snow. She appeared a bit reluctant to walk all the way out to the snowman. I think she and I are kindred spirits in that regard.
“Did Fido help you roll one of those?” she asked as if she didn’t know the answer. Each one outweighed me by a good twenty pounds.
“No, we were throwing snowballs at him an’ he was running an’ then an’ then we made the snowman when daddy came,” said the little lady.
“Fido,” said her brother. He didn’t elaborate.
“How wonderful,” said their mother. I have decided that the mark of poise and grace and self-mastery for a woman is the ability to remain unflappable in the face of their children’s mercurial interests, while also demonstrating a remarkable ability to sigh with delight on cue at whatever proud creation their children happen to show them at any given time. The lady of the house was in a league of her own in this regard.
Somehow, she also noticed that I was wet and cold and deftly suggested that I go inside while also letting her progeny know how long they had until their next meal. She even dried me off with a towel when she brought me inside, although I considered the fact that this had as much to do with her desire to keep me from dripping on the carpet as it did my desire to be warm. I ran over to lie down on the vent by my favorite window and take a nap.
The snow stopped sometime before the humans ate their midday meal. I spent the rest of the day watching the snowplows come and push the snow up into drifts along the sides of the road. The master of the house shoveled the driveway and the sidewalk. That evening, I heard the lady of the house say something about Christmas photos, and they all spent an hour dressing up. I gathered these photos were to be taken at their church. The master of the house spent ten of those minutes putting his clothes on. His wife spent fifteen minutes. And then they spent the rest of the time trying to force cute outfits on their little children and comb the older boy's hair.
Then they looked at me. This was when I discovered I was expected to go, too. If I'd had my way, I would have just as soon stayed home and watched the night while sitting on my warm vent. But I didn't get my way. My yelps of protestation fell on deaf ears.
Unfortunately, my red sweater was dry now. Which meant that the lady of the house tugged it in an undignified manner onto me. She was a little rougher than she might otherwise have been, and she said something about being late.
We were just about to leave when the little lady pulled out a reindeer headband she’d been given at school and placed it on my head. I barked to indicate this wasn't okay with me, but to no avail. They all laughed. I was mortified. The lady of the house said that I looked terribly cute in it, which I knew was bad news, because she had the final say on these sorts of matters.
Which was how I ended up wearing the antlers on my head in the car as we rode over to the church. I had to sit on the little master's lap, which I gathered he didn't like, because I was almost as big as he was. I did my best to shake the antlers off my head, but every time I had just about thrown them off the little lady of the house fixed them in place.
And naturally, when it was time for the six of us to stand in formation in front of the flashing lights which I knew captured our image in some way, I was still wearing the headband. Which was how I ended up going as a reindeer for Christmas. As we were driving away, the lady of the house said something about next year's Christmas cards. Which was how I knew all of their friends' dogs would know I was a reindeer for Christmas. I couldn't think of anything more undignified. With any luck, in this family, the antlers would become a tradition, and I would have to wear them every year, along with that red velvet sweater. At least they didn’t dress me up for Valentine’s Day. Yet.