The Nightmare Before Christmas

There are many reasons to love the Christmas season; cookies to eat, wrapping paper to shred, light-up decorative reindeer to bark at, and the time honored yuletide tradition of bringing a giant tree into the house.

In years past, I've looked forward to the days when a giant tree would take up residency in my living room.  I can't tell you the number of hours I've spent lying underneath it, gnawing on the paper dove ornaments I had just plucked from its boughs, and dreaming of the fun I could have if a squirrel suddenly jumped out from within its branches (hey, the tree had been living outside, a squirrel could very well have taken up residency).

This year, however, is different.  I'm now a bit wary of having a tree in the house.  Why?  Because this year, I witnessed a Christmas tragedy.

It happened in the wee hours of Monday morning (and when I say the wee hours of the morning I mean it...it was 3:30AM!).  There I was, snoozing in the bedroom, dreaming of plush toys, Santa Claus, and chasing bunnies though the snow, when all of a sudden I heard a loud crash.  Sleepily, I opened my eyes and saw Ma go rushing by me into the hallway.  A minute later, Pa hurried pass.  Groggy, but not wanting to miss a moment of a potentially exciting event, I got up and followed after them only to bump into Sister who was coming down the stairs from her own room.  We gathered outside the living room door.

There, in the middle of the room, prone upon a blanket of shattered glass, fake snow, sap laden water, and pine needles was the previously upright and decorated Christmas tree.  And underneath it all was my pillow.

The tree had toppled over.

The first thing that came to mind was of how I had been, not six hours earlier, snoozing on the very same pillow that was now crushed under the tree.  With that realization, my life flashed before my eyes.  I saw myself as a sweet little puppy, gnawing on Sister's hands, as a awkward teen, jumping up on Ma's back and grabbing hold of the hood of her coat, and finally as a devilishly handsome two year old jumping out of Pa's car window.  Ahh, what a miserable little puppy I was (but boy was it fun).

With a wag of my tail, I emerged from my trance only to discover that I had been unceremoniously blockaded from the room and that Pa, Ma, and Sister had already begun cleaning up the mess.  It was only after all the glass had been swept, water mopped up, paper doves safely put away in a basket (out of my reach I might add), and the tree righted that I was finally allowed back into the living room.