Santa's List

Some households have elves that sit on shelves and report back to the big man (Santa) about everyone's behavior.  Well, I don’t have an elf watching me.  No, my family doesn’t need one (not to mention, I probably would have accidentally carried him off thinking he was a squeaker toy).  You see, my family has a direct line to Santa and they are more than happy to report back to him about where I should fall on his naughty and nice list.

Because there is so much at stake during the month of December, I’m usually very careful to remain on my best behavior.  True, I’m generally an angel, but one can’t be too careful when Santa’s involved.  This year was no different.  I was pleasant, helpful, and didn’t bark nearly as much as I could have.  I was a good boy...that is, until last night.

Maybe I went temporarily insane.  Maybe I ate some bad kibble and it messed with my head.  Maybe I was possessed by some evil spirit who decided to turn me into a monster.  I honestly don’t know.  What I do know is this:  I was not myself.

Shortly after everyone went to bed last night, I climbed the stairs to Sister's room with the intention of curling up on my pillow and falling asleep.  When I got there, I found her siting on the floor wrapping Christmas presents.  Immediately, my eyes went wide, my tail started wagging, and in short order, I...

• ...stole some wrapping paper and shredded it.
• ...stole a pen and chewed on it.
• ...found and ran off with a sock.
• ...stole some more wrapping paper and shredded it.
• ...forced my snout into a closed box of unwrapped Christmas gifts (and tried to snatch the contents).
• ...perused a box of wrapped gifts, grabbed one, and unwrapped it (sorry B, it was your gift...it’s fine and Sister will re-wrap it).
• ...licked the rest of the wrapped gifts.
• ...licked the roll of wrapping paper.
• ...grabbed Sister's hair towel (which happened to still be on her head).
• ...tried to dig a hole through a bag of gift labels.
• ...snatched the scissor.
• ...stole even more wrapping paper and shredded it.

It was at this point that I heard Pa’s voice echoing from the first floor.  “What’s going on up there?” he asked.

The fun was over.  I mean, I knew Sister was going to give me hell later for all the trouble I was giving her (her response to Pa’s question was to scream, “your son’s being a pain in the ass”), but once Pa is involved...well, let's just say that if Santa’s the first person you don’t mess with, Pa is a close second.

Down the stairs I ran, hoping to head off Pa before Sister expanded on her statement.  Not knowing exactly what was going on (but figuring I was up to no good), Pa hooked my leash to my collar and took me outside.  After doing business, I settled down on my pillow and prayed that Sister would simply assume that the events of that evening were simply a series of bad dreams.

She didn’t and she told the story of my misbehavior the following morning.

So now I’m a little afraid that my rambunctiousness might have cost me my good standing with Santa.  It's going to be an anxious couple of days.  Hopefully I can redeem myself in time.