Christmas is coming with all the seasonal movies, songs, and stories that add meaning and warmth to the celebration. Humans have their “It’s a Wonderful Life,” “White Christmas,” and “A Christmas Carol.” We have our canine art forms written, performed and produced by great canine literary figures. Who can forget “A Canine Family’s Christmas” starring Rin-Tin-Tin, Lassie, and Toto, directed by Michael Mutt and produced by Cecil B Wienerhound. Or that classic composed by Irving Boxer, “I’m Dreaming of Turkey Left-overs.” crooned by the all-time woofer, Bling Cocker. My personal favorite is the traditional poem written by our immortal bard Fidofus Spot Shakestail, “T ‘was the Canine Night After Christmas.”
T ‘was the night after Christmas
and the humans were done,
leaving the scene
for us dogs to have fun.
The house guests left early
with mess all around,
unaware that we dogs
in the middle would bound.
There were napkins to chew
and cookies to eat
and broken presents
that were hard on my feet.
Glasses full of liquor
sat on the floor.
I gave out with a snicker
as I nosed over more.
Under the tree
there was something for me.
A tasty new slipper
and a fruitcake I found,
which the cake– it was harder
than the slipper to down.
The living room air
that once was so fair,
now to be most honest and very clear,
was thick with the odor of stale farts and beer.
My tongue was engaged
with the dip for the chip
when I spied our cat Rufus
rolling in tinsel from whisker to hip.
After that rascal I went with a bound
sure that I’d catch him, but sadly I found,
stopping on floors that were made very slick
just wasn’t something a dog can do very quick.
The sturdy green pine with balls blue, red and gold,
went to the floor like a paper you’d fold.
I was in trouble, I knew when on went the light.
The master came running, he was primed for a fight.
But as he surveyed me and the riotous scene,
The most he did muster were words most obscene.
I heard him exclaim as he went to the rear.
“Where in the hell is the Pepto my dear?”
Ere he went into the bedroom and out of sight,
he mumbled softly like a moth in full flight
“There are some things that happen
you can’t face at night.”
You just can’t beat the works of the old masters.