Pam’s Turn as Guest Blogger

I grew up in the Air Force, so we didn’t have the normal Christmas traditions. It’s pretty tough to get those huge presents everyone looks forward to at Christmas when you are pretty sure you’re going to end up on a boat (my mother refused to get on an airplane to go anywhere) headed for another part of the world in a few months, you know? It’s like, yeah, I got a new Italian racing bike for Christmas, and I left it in Italy in July. Or like, yeah, I got a pony at my grandparent’s house, and we’ll be back in the States to see it when?

The one constant every Christmas was these gawd awful knitted slippers one of my grandmothers made. Okay, I get it that I should have been more appreciative and stuff, but the damn things itched. And they usually came with knitted mittens (the kind complete with a string between them so you couldn’t lose them) and knitted scarves. I have no idea why it was essential for my itchy slippers to match my mittens, but it was somehow important to my grandmother.

So some of my best Christmas memories are after I moved to Florida. Patti’s mother lived in one of those “retirement communities” that are so popular here, and at Christmas she would cheerfully invite all her friends to our house. Now, I am simultaneously entertained by and very afraid of old people. They seem to know it too. A couple of months ago a little old lady stopped me in the grocery store and yelled at me because I didn’t have a sweater on and SHE was cold. Had an elderly neighbor once who used to lie in wait for me to come home from work so she could tell me what errands she needed me to run, and that was fine until she decided to share me with her friends all up and down the street. Anyway, Christmas dinners, yeah. The last year we did it she brought this little old lady who was, well, weird. I would really try to give them the kind of food they didn’t get at the retirement home dining room, you know? So I cooked a standing rib roast. The day before Christmas Patti’s mother calls me and tells me this lady only eats fish. Okay, fine, so I’ll go get some tilapia or something. No, no, no, she only eats breaded fish sticks, and they have to have tartar sauce.

So I get Mrs. Pauls. And I get tartar sauce. And about eight of them show up for dinner. Well, about half way through her fish sticks this woman’s head starts bobbing. Now, we all see it coming, and I swear it was just cruel of all of us…but her head is bobbing, and we’re watching, and it bobs more…and in about a minute (it really seems longer when someone’s head is bobbing at the dinner table, you know) she goes headfirst into her tartar sauce and mashed potatoes. At least she didn’t snore.

So that’s Christmas. Not so traditional, but Christmas. I think my dogs are infinitely more interesting than holidays. I put them in a slide show so you could see them. The first was Greta the Wonder Dog. She is something, no one is entirely sure what. Airedale and the hound of the Baskervilles maybe. She came from a rescue where they said some family brought her in and asked if they could trade her for a “cute” puppy. She’s brilliant and sweet and very dramatic. And then Chip the chocolate poodle (yeah, seriously Chocolate Chip), who came from the poodle rescue we started working with shortly after we adopted him. He has all four legs attached, but he only uses three of them. He is also the only one who posed for professional portraits. Then there was an unending stream of foster dogs, some of whom stuck. Bonnie the standard poodle came while Patti’s mother was still alive and she told us we had to keep her. Enough said. Then Angel and Petunia came. I had told the rescue people the only way I was taking two foster dogs at once would be if their aggregate total weight was less then twelve pounds. Little did I know. They came and went in a crate and wouldn’t come out for like three days. Finally I had to crawl in and get them. Then Angel decided I was hers. And where Angel goes (or stays) Petunia goes. And then there was Jack. Jack is a labradoodle. He always has something in his mouth. Kathie said once that since he was part lab at least he didn’t chew stuff up. Well, he’s part poodle, too, so he not only chews stuff he leaves drool laden parts of stuff all over my house. But Patti (who just loves cute little dogs, while of course I like the big ones) fell in love with him. I actually signed his adoption papers today.

And finally Gigi the prozac dog. She is not ours, she is the most recent foster dog, and she weighs six pounds. She is completely convinced she owns my bed. She is too short to get in it, but she is serious about her ownership, and attacks my feet every night when I try to get in it. I have done everything I can think of to fix her, and have finally called in a professional trainer. The worst part about Gigi, though, is that when you take her out of the house she is all sweetness and light. So I take her to the vet and ask for drugs. Why? She is insane and she bites. The vet is scratching her belly. He thinks she is sweet.

I put in pictures of some of the other foster dogs, too. They all have cool stories, but I have gone on way too long. Maybe in like February when everything is boring Kathie will let me tell stupid dog stories.

Here is Pam’s video titled “Christmas Poos.”