G-Mail for Christmas

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

You’ve got ‘G’ Mail (sort of)

Everyone knows the  lyrics to my favorite Christmas song:  White Christmas. Let’s all sing along, “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas…”  I’ve always had a thing for the classics and who doesn’t love the mellifluous voices of Bing Crosby, Nat King Cole, Perry Como or even Mel Torme? 

The imagery is great – all about nostalgia, family, and snow (and at the first of winter there is nothing better or more romantic than a snowfall).  Who can get past the tinkling of sleigh bells?  Such a fantastic sound compared to the sounds of today: crowded parking lots, engines grinding, and the bass being played way too loudly by the truck next to you.

At least I thought the imagery was great.

This year, we in our own small corner of the Sonoran desert, are celebrating a white  Christmas almost daily.  But there is no snow, nor is there any really chilly weather.  Let me tell you that neither Bing Crosby nor any other crooner living or dead is involved. 

This year, the white in the white Christmas is being provided by the new dog, Gigi (part pug plus part beagle equals big dog attitude in a 25 pound package).  Actually it is G.G. which could stand for Golden Girl because her fur has a golden cast, but then everyone thinks of Bea Arthur, or Good Girl which she seldom is.  So for now, she is Gigi but not of the “Thank heaven for little girls” fame either.

During the true dog days of summer, late July, we were gifted with a young dog who needed a new home. We figured since she was in heat, had all of her teeth, and her paws weren’t very big, she was probably done growing.  Even the vet estimated a year, give or take.

It turns out that there are advantages to little dogs in heat:  1) you mop your floor daily and 2) the pheromones that were released made introducing her to a  BOD (the big older dog, also known as Thunder) much easier.

It was as though George Burns was introduced to a showgirl.  Our fifteen year old retriever admired the puggle’s many qualities:  long legs, fantastic wiggle, beautiful smile.  He didn’t mind that she could leap over him like Superman leaps tall buildings.  He didn’t care that she ate out of his bowl.  He was even willing to share the nightly ritual of bedtime belly-rubs.

Until.

Until she was spayed.  Then the rules changed.  Without that fantastic drug in the air, he realized there was someone trying to hone in on his territory, share his bed and nightly accolades, and pestered him to play.

Two weeks later, he perfected ignoring her until they reached a truce.

Getting back to the topic at hand:  White Christmas.

Why, you might ask yourself, would a dog create white Christmas?  That is a very good question and one I would never have come up with myself until I looked at my floor the other night.  It looked like snow had fallen in uneven clumps in my living room.  It was on the carpet, the sofa, and even a recliner.  Considering the warm temperature, there was no way it could have been snow.

In fact, it was not.  Gigi had taken three of her many thrift store stuffed animals and proceeded to examine the poor creatures’ construction from the inside out.  Every bit of white polyester fluff was removed and deposited in strategic locations around the house.

Actually this is ‘our’ game.  She tries to destroy a poor defenseless toy and I fix it before it is too far gone.  Granted none of them look store bought anymore. The island of misfit toys has nothing on the little dog’s toy basket.

The artificial tree is up, and on a box so she can’t get to it, and I’ll be playing the game of White Christmas – probably until she’s three or four. Maybe longer.

May 2012 find you happy and healthy.