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While the weather outside is too nippy for my paws, the fire keeps us warm indoors as I’m busy playing with my new toys. Some fluff here, a few leftover pieces piled over there, and that awesome squeaking thingy is still stuck somewhere in here. I tried bringing it to the old man to see if he could get it out for me, but he just tossed it across the room. Guess he thought it was a ball or something. I tried a couple more times before coming to the conclusion that the old man obviously wasn’t getting the gist of what I wanted him to do with it. So in the meantime, I’ll just keep trying to get this thing out on my own. Besides, everyone else seems to be busy with something else entirely. My friends are over, Izzy brought his own toy, but Buck and Marty insisted on playing with one of mine. And that’s just the problem- it was one toy. Two dogs playing tug with my stuffed monkey toy. Sure it stretches out, but only so much. “Hey, guys,” I said as a tuft of fluff spit out from under my tongue, “don’t tear my toys up.” “But you’re, mhff, doing it,” Marty smarted back, quickly losing ground to Buck’s overwhelming weight advantage. I stared down at my slowly disintegrating play toy. I guess nothing lasts forever anyway, and let them go about using the toys as they were meant for- amusement. But this operation of mine is a delicate process, so a quiet place will be necessary for optimal success. At least that’s my prognosis. You’re more than welcome to ask for a second opinion, but I’m the best in the field. Once I moved to the adjacent room, I continued nibbling on the stuffed remnant’s ear, and that’s when Izzy hopped over me and stole my toy. I stared down at my empty paws in surprise. My ear twitched a little (the left one) and I slowly turned to view the interposing canine. He stared back; the only movement coming from his wagging tail. “You!” I barked and gave chase. That was exactly what he wanted, of course. Izzy loved to prove his speed and ability. My short coat may be the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever laid eyes on, but his fluffy coat gave him a tactical advantage in the game of keep-away. Izzy would turn left, but his fur would make it seem like he was still moving right. We always make fun of him when he gets wet though. All that fur makes him look big, but once he’s soaked, he turns into a skinny little rascal and all us pups have a good laugh. But he’s not wet today, and his fluff is just a blur of misdirection around the sofa and down the hall. But he made the mistake of rushing into the kitchen without being fully briefed on the present situation. The old man and his associates were planning something for this evening. I was aware of the food involved (obviously), and there were some strange decorations around the house (plus the lights from last week’s gift-giving occasion). Due to the high number of individuals within the tiny room (I halted at the doorway), it didn’t surprise me that Izzy was snagged up within a matter of seconds. He might be quick, but you must be smart as well, especially during a game of chase. Debbie brought Izzy right to me, toy and all, of which I relieved him with a triumphant smile. After the successful game of chase, I was able to focus on the immediate task of removing this squeaker from the remaining (and very slobbery) ball of fluff. Up on the couch in my secure spot, I stuck my snout in, digging for the treasure, but it wasn’t even a minute before I was interrupted again. Everyone was here now, plopping down on the couch all around me. “Hey!” I yelped, “Delicate operation in progress here!” But everyone ignored me and continued to make themselves comfy on the couch while I was relocated to the old man’s lap. Then the picture box came on, revealing a bunch of people standing and yelling, and a ball dangling in the air. It wasn’t just any ball; it was all lit up so it’s easy to see in the dark. I told the old man we should get one so we can play with at night, then returned my focus to the squeaker at hand. I nudged further in, catching the edge with my teeth. “Ten!” It slid away as I pulled. “Seven!” The edge presented itself, and I tugged. “Four!” Almost there, but it’s caught on a thread. One!” I nipped the string and tugged the squeaker free at last! “Happy New Year!” Squeak, squeak, squeak!!
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