We had a wonderful first Christmas together, Santa. All that worrying about whether Grady would …water, the Christmas tree were for naught. He did seem somewhat surprised when he strolled around the end of the couch looking for his ball, only to stick his head in a small forest of fir branches. But you know him, he’s resilient.
And he was such a good boy. At least, until Michael arrived. Why is it that he never wants on the couch until my son shows up? That’s a rhetorical question Santa. I expect you’re far too busy negotiating the elves contract for 2013 to ponder such trivialities.
What I really wanted to talk to you about was his presents. More specifically, the squeakers in his toys. How much would it take to bribe those sadistic little b…bu…buddies of yours? I mean, it’s not that I don’t like squeakies, I do. But then, I like pecan pie too. One piece or so a year. You know, too much of a good thing.
So next year, could you perhaps come up with an alternating squeaky system so that only one toy can be squeaked at a time for say….30 seconds? And then it won’t squeak again for oh…maybe a week? I would really appreciate it. Thanks for the Advil too. Next year make it double strength.
For a blind dog who’s never “seen” Christmas before, he sure figured out the present thing pretty fast.