So we had plans for the most perfect Christmas tree in existence. I mean, we had enough ornaments to decorate the world tree Yggdrasil and have some left over, maybe. All right. Probably not that many ornaments, but it sure isn’t a small number.

Anyway. We had the tree. We had the uber-stand, designed to [...]]]> by Richard

So we had plans for the most perfect Christmas tree in existence. I mean, we had enough ornaments to decorate the world tree Yggdrasil and have some left over, maybe. All right. Probably not that many ornaments, but it sure isn’t a small number.

Anyway. We had the tree. We had the uber-stand, designed to prevent the . . . incidents . . . that have befallen our family for the last two years. Lord knows we don’t need any more trees hitting the ground, especially after they’ve been decorated. Dude, that is not a scene I want repeated.

So we had plans for this tree. We got a tree large enough that it wasn’t dwarfed by the oh-so-very-1980s great room, with two-story ceilings, and large enough that we had to rent a storage locker for the furniture for which we no longer have room. No, I haven’t heard of conspicuous consumption. What is that? Never mind. I don’t want to know.

The tree was up. The ornaments were attached. All was right with the world. Until our one tiny flaw was exposed.

His name was Buzz, the newest addition to the Jones family, a Labrador/pit bull mix we rescued from the pound in August. Buzz has a. . . healthy . . . interest in balls of all kinds. Sort of like the dogs in Up have for squirrels. See ball. Chase ball. Eat ball. Repeat. I think you can see where this is headed. Why we didn’t is a question for the ages.

When we had all the ornaments up and were sitting back and basking in the glow of a job well done, that’s when Buzz decided he had to see what all the fuss was about. Later on I figured out what happened. While we saw a heavily decorated Christmas tree, on which we’d done a lot of work, Buzz saw a cornucopia of shiny, round bits just begging to be batted with front paws, clenched between sharp teeth and just generally messed with.

Not really a recipe for calm, reasoned behavior.

My wife, known to many as She Who Must Not Be Trifled With, and I were in the kitchen, just puttering around. (I was showing her where the actual cooking took place. She was curious. It’d been so long since she’d done any actual cooking.) That’s when we heard the rapid series of plinks, chomps and thuds, followed by a resounding smash. We quickly ran to the great room and saw Buzz lying contentedly at the foot of the (thank goodness) still-standing tree and chewing on a wooden ornament he’d just brought down (along with a shower of less-durable ornaments).

So, fortunately, we didn’t kill the poor dog, but it was a near thing.

Rather than throwing the dog back, we decided instead to torture him. We’ve got him in a crate that faces the tree so he can always see it, but he can’t get to it. No, not really. We are, though, letting him out on a limited, supervised basis until he learns not to eat the ornaments. He still goes outside, but his movement inside is severely restricted.

He’s actually doing a good job of straightening out. I’ve found him casting forlorn glances at the stocking with Buzz written on it and having over the fireplace. I think he’s worried about getting on Santa’s bad side. Good. I’ll take that.

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Every year I face the same dilemma. Do we go with sparkly, shimmery fakery, or do we go with pine-smelling, needle dropping realism? That is, do we have a plastic Christmas tree, probably bought at a Walmart someday at about 3 a.m., or a real tree, bought from some roadside stand or the other, [...]]]> by Richard

Every year I face the same dilemma. Do we go with sparkly, shimmery fakery, or do we go with pine-smelling, needle dropping realism? That is, do we have a plastic Christmas tree, probably bought at a Walmart someday at about 3 a.m., or a real tree, bought from some roadside stand or the other, strapped on the roof of my car and prayed over the entire time, hoping madly it won’t come leaping off and plow into a car behind us?

As you can see, I’m a bit ambivalent about both methods. I mean, the only time I can really contemplate buying and using a fake tree is in the dark hours of the early morning when I’ve had far too many little glasses of Santa’s helper. I grew up with the real thing, dude. It’s hard to contemplate switching to a manufactured tree.

But then there’s the whole thing about the environment. Is it really green to purchase, and by purchasing support the whole industry, a tree planted specifically for the purpose of being basically cut down and thrown away in a couple of weeks? Should I be worried that more bits of the Earth’s lungs are being put down and then cut down with every Yule celebration?

On average, says the National Christmas Tree Association, between 25 and 30 million Christmas trees sold in the U.S. every year. There are close to 350 million Christmas trees currently growing on Christmas tree farms in the U.S. alone, all planted by farmers. Oddly enough, the National Christmas Tree Association is very bullish on the benefits of real versus plastic. I mean, they’re talking about all the toxic materials in plastic trees and, oh so slyly, letting us know that most plastic trees are made in. . . China. Horrors. Like that’s not true of most of our stuff we get for Christmas.

I know it’s a bit of propaganda, but I think I’m going to stick with the real trees. At least for a while. After all, there’s that wonderful smell. At least until the tree stops taking water and starts drying out, usually on the floor of our living room.

Which means that we’ll be celebrating the purported season of life by killing something and then displaying the corpse in our house. Sounds like a plan to me.

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And now for something from the quel surprise file. My family’s dog, Buzz (who’s part labrador, part pit bull, part cow and part beaver) hates squirrels. No really. Well, it’s not that he hates them so much as he wants to get squirrels in his mouth, shake them until all their bones break and [...]]]> by Richard

And now for something from the quel surprise file. My family’s dog, Buzz (who’s part labrador, part pit bull, part cow and part beaver) hates squirrels. No really. Well, it’s not that he hates them so much as he wants to get squirrels in his mouth, shake them until all their bones break and then spend as long as possible tearing them apart. Rinse and repeat.

Yes, yes, yes. I know that describes just about every single dog in existence, but I’ve noticed something special about the way Buzz treats squirrels. And I think it gives us all something to think about. I think I used enough thinks in those last couple of sentences, yes?

Okay, here’s the deal. When Buzz first sees a squirrel, he runs at it as if d0g catchers were nipping at his heels. When he’s on a leash, that means the leash catches him up short and then causes him to flip over backwards in the air, land on his feet and then go after the squirrels again. He’s nothing if not determined.

Of course, when Buzz makes his move, the squirrel makes his as well. Like all good prey, the squirrel doesn’t stand and fight. It doesn’t make a defiant gesture. It just turns and runs. As quickly and drastically as possible. Most often up the nearest, tallest tree. Once the squirrel is at the top of the tree, he’ll run along branches and move from tree to tree. Again, not surprising.

What was surprising, I thought, was that Buzz wouldn’t give up when the squirrel disappears up the tree. He’ll stand quietly, his head cocked, listening for squirrel feet to scamper along a branch. Once he’s got that, he’ll locate the squirrel visually and then keep watching, slowly moving along the ground as the squirrel moves along in the trees. He’ll keep watching as long as the squirrel stays visible.

Our doggie dude doesn’t do this out of spite. Well, no more than normal for a dog who’s just lost his intended toy/lunch. He watches just in case. Just in case the squirrel suffers a stroke/heart attack/vertigo/whatever and falls to the ground. Buzz wants to be prepared. Who knows? The branch might break. Lightning might strike. The wind my howl enough to knock the squirrel off.

That’s what I love. Not that the dog is too stupid to know when to give up. That he knows that anything is possible. Anything can happen. He doesn’t let his goal disappear from sight without fighting for it. That’s something I think we should all remember as we go through life, closing our eyes and blinking away our vision of what’s possible.

Remember the dog.

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