On Christmas Eve, I took my daughter, Zoe, for some last-minute shopping to get presents for our two Rottweilers. Zoe took her time browsing the toy section at Pet Smart and selected two different squeaker toys. My husband is against toys for the fur-babies because they typically eat them within a matter of minutes; however, Zoe wanted to get them each a Christmas present. The kid does not ask for much, so I agreed. She also convinced me to get each of them a second present, a chew-toy that you can put dog treats inside and the dogs have to work to get the treats out. We have had good luck with this type of toy in the past occupying our first Rottweiler for at least a little bit, so the puppers each got their own puzzle-treat toy.
On the way home, The Cranberries’ “Zombie” came on the radio and I started singing along. So did she, so I turned up the volume. Half-way home we were belting out “What’s in your heeeee-ead, in your heee-ee-eh-ad, Zooo-ooom-bie, Zooo-ooom-bie, Zooo-ooom-be-eh-eh” giggling at each other.
The next day I did feel like a zombie because Santa waited until after one o’clock in the morning before coming to our house just to make sure everyone was, in fact, actually asleep. The rule in our house is that Zoe needs to wait until the sun is up before she is allowed to get out of bed. She waited until 8 o’clock to wake us up. Did I mention she’s on the “nice” list? Anywho. She was thrilled to see that Santa had visited, eaten the two cookies she had left for him, drank the milk, and taken the nine carrots she had left for his reindeer. He even left one toy each for the puppers.
My in-laws had a theme for this year’s gifts: Zombie Apocalypse. In addition to the more normal gifts of clothes and toys for our daughter, my husband and I received items preparing for Armageddon, including travel-sized toiletries, bullets, magazines (the kinds for bullets, not the kind you read), hand warmers, emergency heat-retention sleeping bags, fire sticks, a portable gas stove, and a couple cannisters of butane. My favorite part was when my husband opened one of the VONT camping lanterns – holy crap, that thing was BRIGHT…so bright that it blinded all three of us and my husband was still seeing spots for a few minutes afterwards (well done, VONT – that mother will light up a flea on a bear’s behind).
Did I mention that when I stay up past midnight, I get migraines? Well, after presents, breakfast, and a walk around the neighborhood with the puppies, during which my daughter tested out her new scooter, I ended up taking not one, but two separate naps on Christmas day. I woke up just in time to make enchiladas for dinner.
No, enchiladas aren’t exactly my family’s Christmas tradition. In fact, my mom always did Turkey for Thanksgiving and lasagna and Struffoli (kinda like Italian donut holes covered in honey) for Christmas. However, since I became an adult, I have had more of an aversion to holidays and would probably skip them altogether if I didn’t have a munchkin who loved them so much. Yes, I am a scrooge. And not just this year, but every year, although this year has been particularly hard on everyone. But after this year, I suspect everyone feels a bit like a zombie the cat dragged in and we all pray to our own deities (those who recognize them, anyway) that 2021 is unequivocally and immensely better than 2020.
Oh, and those two toys our male Rottweiler got? Yeah, he ate them before the night was over. Today my daughter informed me that she had “stepped in something really gross” in the laundry room and I found the vomited remains of what I only assume was the fur off of his new chew toys. At least he won’t kill another toy until next Christmas.
Original Post 12/2020
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