It's not me. It's the dog. I put up the Christmas tree in what my husband swears is the first time in five years. I tried to get PeeWee involved in the merry-making.
|Yes, those are ass-ugly curtains, but they are|
super-effective for blocking out the light.
I told PeeWee to put on his Santa hat and sit politely in front of the tree so I could get a good picture. This is what happened:
He tore the poof ball off the top of his hat in a fit of what I can only compare to a small child who's eaten too much candy. Or maybe it's just because he hates hats. You can tell he's adopted.
That nice Christmas picture I hoped to share with you all? It turned into this:
|I'm not looking at the camera. Fa la la la la la la la la.|
|I'm laughing at you.|
You see that face? That's the face of a 16 pound (he's added a little weight over the holidays) holy terror! A spinning, barking, biting, Santa hat poof ball destroying terror! He also attacked Festivus Miracle Kitty and tried to tear the hat off of him as well. Festivus Miracle Kitty only wants to bestow happiness and joy on everyone. PeeWee wants . . . well, cheese and a rousing game of rub-my-butt-so-I-can-dig-at-the-bed-and-make-weird-noises.
Like my husband says, I wouldn't take a million dollars for him and I wouldn't give 10 cents for another one just like him. Okay, yes, I would to the second part.
Merry Christmas to you and yours from me and mine. I hope all your Christmas wishes come true.
See you Wednesday!