Santa, Maybe? A Pet’s Holiday Plea

Dear Santa,

I know what this looks like, but it’s not that bad. Before you change your gift list, I’d like to take a moment to explain myself. The wonderful people at the Animal Hospital of Parkland helped me compose this letter, and they’ll vouch for me.

They always go on and on about what a good boy I am. 

So, here’s how it all went down.

How lovely are your branches—Christmas trees and pets

It started when I was napping in the living room. The unthinkable happened—my parents came in the front door with an honest-to-goodness smells-like-squirrels TREE.

My first instinct was to use my deepest voice and order them to “Drop it,” but the tree looked heavy, so I pretended to forget all the sticks I’ve been forced to surrender on the welcome mat. 

I slept with one eye open and watched them give the tree a fresh bowl of water—which looked suspiciously like mine—and then smooth and pet its branches. Next, they wound green cords around and around in some kind of ceremonial dance, and then switched the switch and hundreds of lightning bugs lit up.

Nobody takes my bowl and gets away with it, so I went in for a closer look. Those bugs winked at me like they knew something I didn’t—so I grabbed that green cord and yanked. My Mom screamed.

I think that tree bit me! Whatever it was, I felt a big jolt from my nose to my jingle bells—don’t worry, I’m getting neutered soon, although perhaps now I won’t need it. 

Mom called it a “shock” and indeed she was right—I was shocked. She called Animal Hospital of Parkland and they said Christmas lights can electrocute pets, and small dogs and cats are especially vulnerable. Electrical shock injuries can burn a pet’s mouth and tongue and damage muscle tissue, including the heart. 

After that, Mom and Dad put a fence around the tree, but they don’t need to worry—I’m never doing that again. 

Comin’ down the chimney—fireplace safety for pets

On the night before Christmas, my dad hung socks on the mantle. Oh boy, socks are my favorite thing, and these weren’t any old socks—although I do love the old ones—they were gigantic, colorful, and personalized.

The fireplace was roaring when Dad went out to get wood from the woodpile. Like a cheetah on the prowl, I sidled up to the hearth where the fireplace was wide open and cranking out heat. I ignored the ominous crackling—a bad idea, in hindsightbut I was on a mission. I stood on my back feet, grabbed the edge of one dangling sock—and heard a loud pop, which I knew was not one of your guys prancing on the roof. My tail was suddenly hot, and the more I waved my tail, the more the burning intensified.

“Monty!” 

After that, things were a blur. The sock fell, and so did I—my Dad tackled and rolled and started patting me all over, the way he often does when we’re being silly. I’m super ticklish, so I thought it was great fun. 

Only when Mom scolded me and dragged the heavy metal fireplace screen back in place did I recognize the theme in this year’s holiday decor—barriers. 

I’m sure my tail hair will grow back. Until then, I’ll tell everyone I’m a Lab.

A turkey and some mistletoe—holiday food and pets

Every year during the holiday dinner, I appeal to my target audience—the oldest and youngest at the table. I place my head in all the right laps and work tirelessly from the first course to dessert, enforcing strict quality control on every morsel I receive.

My folks are on to me, though, because they posted a “Do not feed Monty” list next to everyone’s place card. Based on this year’s pitiful Thanksgiving payout, I assume the “Do Not” list included:

  • Turkey skin
  • Bones 
  • Ham
  • Casseroles containing onion and garlic
  • Corn on the cob
  • Chocolate
  • Macadamia nuts
  • Grapes and raisins
  • Xylitol — This is a sugar substitute found in sugar-free items and is not really a loss, since diabetic Aunt Betty’s sugar-free cookies always seemed kinda dry.

When everyone pushed away from the table, my stomach was really growling, so I went to the nearest fast food joint—the kitchen trash can. Everything tasted fine going down, but the turkey grease and cranberries did not make a pleasant pairing when they returned all over the hallway rug.

It won’t happen again though. Mom ordered lockable trash cans on Amazon. She kept muttering words like “pancreatitis,” “hospitalization,” and “death”—although I think that’s how she justifies her online purchases.

So, Santa, if you’re still reading this, I hope you’ll see that my actions were completely valid. I’m only a dog and I live in the moment. But I don’t blame my owners, who are only doing their best (e.g., the barriers), and they know who to call when things go south (i.e., Animal Hospital of Parkland). Every pet should be lucky enough to have folks like mine—maybe you can squeeze in a gift for them, too?

Who am I kidding, I’m the only gift they’ll ever need. 

I’ll take whatever you were going to give them.

Love,
Monty

P.S. If your reindeer or any other pets need care when you’re in town, I suggest contacting the Animal Hospital of Parkland. Tell them Monty sent you!

By |2024-02-14T23:51:34+00:00December 19th, 2022|Uncategorized|0 Comments

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