The Pooch Who Stole Christmas 1991

My Mother and her six sisters have been posting Christmas memories each day this month, leading up December 25, and while I want to join in, I don’t want to over do it, so i will share just one. My most vivid and painful xmas memory. 

When I was nine years old I got the coolest gift in the world, a multitrack audio recorder designed for kids, complete with headphone and instrument inputs and built-in noises (think laser and animal sounds). I've received cool gifts since, but that recorder hit at the perfect age to be historically amazing. I don’t remember how much attention it got on the day of Christmas, but had I known it’s fate, I would not have put it down. The day after Christmas I went out to run errands with my mom and siblings. I’m sure the days events were the trivial post-Christmas errands everyone does who doesn’t have to go to work- the things that quickly fade from memory. Kind of ironic actually, because what was awaiting us at home I will never forget. 

Our family dog, Bear, was a huge and loveable keeshond. He never played fetch or got mad, about the only distinct thing about him was his bushy coat and how much he loved to run around in the snow. We had a good relationship, he and I, but that Christmas... Bear did the unthinkable. He chewed up my most cherished Christmas gift. It didn’t make any sense; he wasn't a puppy, the recorder was hard plastic and I'm certain there were mountains of candy and my Mom's Christmas fudge sitting around the house. So for some reason I will never be able to reconcile, this loveable, puffy pooch picked out my multitrack recorder and devoured it.

If the annihilation of the gift was bad, what happened when I discovered it’s carcass was worse. I must have done something terrible to Bear in the days leading up to Christmas because as we entered the house, I found him IN THE ACT of murdering the multitrack recorder. Without thinking I lunged to the recorder’s aid, and Bear, who was in full “dog with a bone” mode, defended his prize and bit me, square on the butt. He didn’t break the skin, but based on the reaction of my nine-year-old self, you would have thought he tore off my arm. 

Besides putting him outside, and my Grandmother suggested we put the dog down, there wasn’t much of a reaction. My gift was gone and not replaced (which was kind of odd, but to cope with the events I’ve just passed that off as my parents were teaching me about loss). While Bear is long dead and I’ve had decades to heal, both emotionally and physically, I’ll never forget that gift and its untimely demise. Merry Christmas everyone, and if you happen to receive a gift that is so truly perfect, put it somewhere safe or you might get bit on the ass.