It was always my intention to save this particularly grizzly exposé for a day and time such as this, rather than divulge it immediately after its occurrence. And because we in the northeast are experiencing a true “winter of our discontent” this seemed a fitting time to unfold, what is sure to be, a particularly macabre and medieval tale.
Ah, Christmas, that most celebrated, anticipated, and dangerous of holidays, by this old pug’s reckoning… Lizzie and I anticipated its coming with great excitement, and since we were already at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, knew (at least we thought we did) Mom and Dad would be arriving in advance of the holiday. We had visions of Christmas presents (for us) under the tree, Grandma baking up delectable treats in the kitchen (with our needed assistance), cozy fires in the fireplace (where we’d be napping) to ward off winter’s chill, and long sleeps (with Mom and Dad) on top of flannel sheets and under fluffy down. How very wrong can one foolish pug be? That Currier & Ives picture was never to be our reality. Ours was, in truth, truly Dickensian in every aspect.
No Mom and Dad arrived on the Cape, but rather we four dogs were taken to “the big house” for “lockup.” Yes, you must gasp with horror and reel with shock. It is true. Our bedding, sweaters, and comfort objects were hauled into the kennel at the veterinary hospital, where each of us was told goodbye, have a merry Christmas, and see you in a week. Not one to ever believe the worst of any person or situation, I put on a brave and manly face, trotted off thinking it was a joke, and that we were being taken to a room piled high with biscuits, treats, and marrowbones. Oh no…not by a long shot. This was a reality far from any life experience I could imagine.
Down a long cement corridor with cells on either side, far from the cheery front room with its crackling fire in the fireplace, and the welcoming techs and receptionists, were we lead. With little ceremony and no apologies, Lizzie and I were shown into our “suite,” with the echo of the slamming door sounding like our death knell. Yes, dear reader, yours truly was being locked up in a concrete cage with loathsome Lizzie for Christmas vacation.
To be continued…