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Christmas 2009
I had a surprisingly
good Christmas this year.
Admittedly, it wasn’t
as good as my first Christmas, when we all stayed at Auntie Pat’s and
Mr. Paddidog got the squits. The grown-ups went out visiting, and we
were left in the hall, which Uncle Fred covered with The Sun in case Mr.
P. had an accident - well, it‘s about the only useful thing you can do
with The Sun in my opinion (other opinions are available). He didn’t,
so I tore all the pages up and filled the hall full of confetti. We
dogs thought that was hilarious, but the grown-ups were less impressed.
Anyway, I was
surprised that we had a Christmas at all, because Daff (aka She Who Must
be Obeyed) decreed earlier in the year that we were going to give
Christmas a miss this time.
She’s been really
Bolshie this year, ever since the Lincoln Incident in May. I got the
feeling that she thought I was entirely to blame. Had I thought that
opening the zip on the caravan awning and letting us all out would have
resulted in our being threatened by the site owner (who was also the
husband of one of Daff’s best friends – who needs friends like that, I
ask myself?) with being shot, which then indirectly resulted in Daff’s
being sacked from her gardening slot on BBC Lincolnshire, I wouldn’t
have done it.
As it was, John had
disappeared and I wanted to know where he had gone, and so did the rest
of us. I didn’t know he had only gone to find Mr. Trigger-Happy to mend
a cable for him, otherwise I’d have stayed put in the awning.
The farm doesn’t have
any stock, and we wouldn’t have chased it anyway (I’m scared of sheep
ever since one swore at me through a fence, and the rest of us treat
them with the disdain they deserve, totally ignoring them in the
process) but the land is riddled with rabbits and hares, so it was only
natural we would get side-tracked, but we didn’t catch any of them
either. In everyone’s opinion, it was totally unreasonable to threaten
us with certain death, and it upset Daff a great deal.
She shouldn’t have
drunk anything at the evening reception, because since she was poorly
two years ago and had all her insides out, she can’t cope with alcohol,
but she said she thought it would make her feel better, only it didn’t,
and someone complained to the Managing Editor at BBC Lincolnshire, who
kicked her out immediately.
I would have
apologised for her, but none of us was given the chance, and for the
rest of the year she’s been all bitter and twisted, especially when she
sees the lies about her on the Web.
 Anyhow, going back to
Christmas, neither she nor John felt much like celebrating, even though
we have kept telling her how much we love her. I really thought she
meant it when she threw Bluebell and me out of the Fen Bank Christmas
Party, although she did explain afterwards that with regard to Bluebell,
she couldn’t stand any more of her screaming while tied to a heating
pipe, and apparently I swore at Peter Bryan, which was a bad mistake
because Daff has a special spot for Peter and has often said she would
have adopted him if she hadn’t got too many doggies already. Sals, Pads
and Discit came home with pressies, but Bluebell and I apparently missed
out badly.
However, those of us
who know Daff well suspected she would find it difficult to have an
entirely Christmas-free year, and when the tree and holly wreaths came
out and she came back from shopping with two packs of LED lights for the
garden, we knew she had succumbed. LED Christmas lights have a much
smaller carbon footprint apparently, and Daff is very much into carbon
footprints at the moment. I’m not really sure what carbon footprints
are, but I expect they are like what’s all over the kitchen floor at the
moment.
From then on, things
took a turn for the better – Christmas cards written in a hurry on the
last date for posting, a mad wrapping of pressies ordered on line (Daff
doesn’t like going out in crowds any more since the Lincoln Incident),
and a hasty arranging of pre-Christmas visits to exchange gifts.
Then the snow came
down and we all galloped around the Patch, throwing snowballs with our
back feet. I had forgotten how much better snow makes it for a poor
boy with a crippled foot to chase around. This was my first White
Christmas, and I liked it very much.
The day before
Christmas Eve, we had a very pleasant visit to Auntie Pat and Uncle Fred
and Cousins Laia and Murphy at Sheffield. Our cousins are GSDs and
they weren’t sure they liked greyhounds at first because they thought we
were inclined to show off, but now they have got to know us, we all get
on well. We went a long walk through fields with them after lunch; the
snow was all crispy and nice to eat, and we were even allowed to go into
the house afterwards. Laia has a very nice bed in the hall, so I
thought I would try it out. Daff was worried in case she registered
her disapproval, but she was much too busy entertaining the rest of the
visitors in the lounge so she left me in peace and I didn’t have to tell
her to clear off once – what a hostess!
I thought we might
have some pressies of our own because we’d all had a good sniff round
the parcels which were supposed to have been shut up in the office, but
which we inspected every time an opportunity presented itself. But we
didn’t know just how many there were – it must have been an all-time
record.
We were allowed to
open our parcels on John and Daff’s bed on Christmas morning, and at one
stage I wondered if they were ever going to stop coming. There were
lots of tripey, smelly things for us all from Daff, a big bag of gravy
bones from Auntie Cath (Mr. Paddy’s favourite!), some big, hard biscuits
from a new auntie and her GSD, Mary, who have come to live in Boston, a
huge box of sausages and bones and stuff from Auntie Sandra and lots of
other things – I’ve forgotten just who sent what but I expect I’ll
remember as they come out of the cupboard, and then I can write and
thank everyone. It’s rather a chore, writing thank you letters, but if
we are to get an even bigger haul next year, it has to be done. I
discovered that Daff had even brought
our pressies from the Fen Bank Christmas Party, so we didn’t miss out,
after all.
We even got our turkey
dinner, which must have been exceedingly fine, as we all had squits on
Boxing Day – always a good indication of how acceptable the festive fare
was. The turkey has, in fact, lasted many days, although in the
interests of hygiene we are now rationed as to how much we are allowed
at each meal.
Yes, I can honestly
say we had an excellent Christmas – pity it only comes but once a
year..........
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