2nd Bonus Story from “Death by Advertising.”
Title story starts here.
If you can’t wait, or want your own copy, visit https://calm.li/DeathByAdvertising
Long Overdue Santa
It had been 21 years since Santa last came to my Master’s home.
I sat here in on the porch, enjoying the first late snow of the year. And Santa came to mind.
He quit coming after the children had left one by one, every seven years or so. They would visit now and then, and I would almost get a cramp in my tail from wagging so hard in happiness. My tongue would loll, and I’d sit by their feet or lay there as they talked along with my Masters.
It was bliss when they visited, as I missed them so much. But I always had my Masters, their parents, to pat me on the head and refill my bowls with food and water.
Every seven years, my Masters would take many days to get a smelly pine tree into its position by the window. And my Momma Master would ooh and aah over the ornaments she would select from a big box that Pappa Master would bring down from the tall stairs into the attic.
I almost got into see that room once. It was when I was very young and stairs were not so hard to climb. Their youngest, Molly, had me with her in her high-up room and the ladder was down from the attic. Seeing it, I started to climb and I could smell all sorts of dusty, curious things there. But about half-way up in my struggles, Molly came to scoop me up and take me down stairs, hugging me and kissing me and carrying on. All the way downstairs to the big room.
I miss Molly sometimes. Her room is still empty at the top of the house, the end of the hall.
But I don’t visit there anymore, as it hurts too much to climb all those stairs. I have a bed down here now, at the foot of my Master’s. There I can watch and listen and smell and protect them.
Today, I again went out the special door they had installed so many years ago. I came out to watch the first snow land.
I love the smell of snow. It’s like rain, only cold and light and white. It smells like fresh rain, but different. And it stays that way for a long time before it picks up other smells.
Smells are important. They tell you a lot about a person. You can even smell when a person is coming, although the big cars and trucks disguise them until the last moments. Just before they step out.
And then I rush to make sure just who they are. Almost always it’s someone nice. And my head gets patted and they say how nice I am and how beautiful.
I enjoy my time with my humans, even though it goes by seven times slower for them. They can hardly smell, and don’t see or hear like I do. They also insist on giving me baths to take away my natural scent. I do like the brushing I get afterwards. And often a treat for being such a patient and “good girl.”
It’s easy being patient when you love your humans. They’re just too easy to love.
People talk slow, though. I just keep looking in their eyes and wagging my tail. I can’t much understand what they are saying but the general idea comes through pretty well.
Like when they don’t want me to go along when they leave for somewhere. And when they do want me to go with them to the dog doctor. I really dislike the smells there. It’s the only place I want to leave before I even get in the door.
But our house at Christmas is a wonderful place.
It’s even more wonderful when Santa visits. I often get a present or two when that happens. That’s how my dog bed came. And when my humans took off the wrappings and ribbons, I jumped into it, turned around a few times and then curled up there for the rest of the day.
They brought out their little pocket phones and took pictures of me in my bed by the tree with the rest of the presents.
That day was bliss.
It just hasn’t happened anything like that for 21 years.
Every seven years, my Masters have put up a tree in front of the window. Momma Master has gotten misty-eyed when she put certain ornaments up, when she pauses to look out the window. Even once, she had to wipe a salty tear away.
I know, because I’m never far away. She stooped to pick me up and cuddle me, and I licked her hand free of her tear and helped her feel all better. Well, mostly.
She liked to have me on the couch with her and watch the pictures on their TV. Especially when that tree is up in the house. Because she used to have her children on that couch when they still lived here. They were all gone away now, so I got promoted to help comfort her.
When Poppa Master is there, that’s his place. I stay on the floor and guard them, because there was no more room on the couch and because it was my job.
Sorry I’m wandering about while telling you this. My mind is funny these days as my own body has slowed down.
But I have to tell you about that red hat I found.
From that porch, I could just see it lying in a small pile all covered with snow except a small dark spot. It wan’t moving, but my ears perked up all the same. It shouldn’t be all there, all alone on the driveway. Poppa Master doesn’t let anything stay on his driveway. If he saw it, he would pick it up and put it into the big green rolling plastic container. The one that got emptied once every 21 days by the big noisy machine that only came to the end of the driveway. Always early in the morning. Always noisy with big flashing lights.
That red splotch was sitting there, and so I got off my nice dry spot on the porch to check it out.
I pawed at it and saw the snow flake off it and the splotch got bigger. My nose said it had been near cinnamon, and pine trees, and butterscotch, and brown sugar. Even some gingerbread.
It then came to me that this was a Santa thing. These things always showed up when Santa was around. It didn’t need to go into the big green container, it needed to go into the house by the tree.
So I picked it up carefully in my mouth and shook it off. Then, holding my head high to not trip on it, I carried it back to the house and through my door. It belonged by the tree. I left it there, and shook off my fur, then laid down on top of it while I waited for my Masters to get up.
Soon, the dark smell of coffee came from the kitchen and the sounds of toasters and frying pans doing their job. Butter and jam smells. This must be one of those “days off” days, as both Poppa and Momma were talking in the kitchen and not rushing around to get ready to go somewhere.
When they came into the big room with their mugs in one hand and toast in the other, Momma Master let out one of those “coo’s” and set down her mug and toast to pick up the phone to take a picture. Poppa and Momma then hugged each other as they looked at it. I heard them naming their children and fiddling with the phone to call them.
It was a nice feeling, even if that was as close as we were going to get to them that day.
Later, Poppa came back in after taking a drive and had a big fake bone made out of dog-treat stuff for me, with a ribbon on it. Momma Master put it by the cap on the floor near the tree and I laid there so they could take another picture of me with my bone. They were both happy. I love making them happy.
That night, when they were both in bed, I went back out to check and make sure everything was safe.
The snow was still fresh as it hadn’t warmed up much that day, and it had been cold enough that the snow didn’t melt much from below.
It was a clear night and I laid down to rest and enjoy the outside smells and sounds.
I must have dozed off there for awhile.
When I woke it was because I heard a jingle from the driveway. We don’t get many jingles there. Cars and trucks don’t have jingles.
Someone was walking toward me with tall boots and red pants. As he got closer, I could smell butterscotch, and cinnamon, and pine and brown sugar. I slowly sat up to see better. And smelled gingerbread.
The big man came over and patted my head with his gloved hand.
He told me in my own language that I had been a good pup all my life and now I had another job to do if I wanted it.
And all of the sudden I was jumping and dancing around like I was a small puppy again. In fact, I looked at my paws and saw they were small again. And I had all this energy. I even jumped up on his tall boots so he could pet me better. I knew my Masters didn’t like this, but this red-suited old man just chuckled.
We went back down the driveway, past some reindeer and the jingling bells to his sleigh. The old man motioned and I jumped up high, right into the sleigh, and then up onto the bench and into the thick robe he had there. Just like I was a young pup again.
And the old man paused to put on his hat, the one I had found that afternoon.
He climbed up, sat down, grabbed the reins into one hand and patted me with the other.
It was time for another great adventure.
This is the second of two Bonus Stories from “Death by Advertising.”
Title story starts here.
If you can’t wait, or want your own copy, visit https://calm.li/DeathByAdvertising