I blame the lack of a coherent column this morning on Monty Dog, our golden retriever puppy.
He is obsessed, obsessed, with Christmas stollen.
He rightly suspects I have toasted stollen, which I was going enjoy with my morning cup of coffee as I crawl back into bed to write. He knows this because he has stalked me from the toaster, up the stairs, back to bed.
Other retrievers probably reserve such laser focus for ducks. Monty for holiday carbohydrates. He is relentless.
Now he’s climbing up the duvet Ninja-like, behind the laptop, to POUNCE on my toast!
Not so fast, Fluffwit!
I grab my plate in the nick of time. Monty has a sit-down strike, flopping all 40 pounds of his puppy mass atop my keyboard until I relent. I fling a piece of toast across the room.
He runs to go gobble it up in a nanosecond, and he’s back.
I’m only managing to type this now because I surrendered my remaining breakfast. (He’s licking the keyboard for crumbs. Eww.)
I am ruled by fluffy cuteness. Mr. CL says what Monty lacks in good behavior he makes up for with good looks, and that’s probably a better advantage in life. I tell Monty that Santa’s spies are watching, but he’s unmoved by this threat. He eats elves.
I know this, because I had to fish a pine cone elf out of his slobbery jaws the other day.
Yes, even the pine cone elves are not safe. Or the Christmas ornaments (Mid-Century felt ones are apparently the tastiest.) Or the presents. (He retrieves stick-on bows and deposits them throughout the house.)
If it feels good, don’t do it, Monty.
Did Monty take this advice?
Poor Mr. and Mrs. Claus.
Your Friday Challenge is to set aside the sturm und drang of fuckwits and tell me about your holiday plans. All the gain-a-life goodness.
If you have no holiday plans, this isn’t a holiday you celebrate, or you’re going through a lonely suckfest now and don’t want to gin up any positive vibes, you can send me your dog training tips. Or post your favorite recipe.
As for our plans? Golden retriever awaits arrival of all three sons for Christmas. A bounty of dropped snacks and unguarded toast awaits.
We haven’t had all three kids together for awhile, so you might get a few reruns next week. Also, the Universal Bullshit Translator needs to rest its sprockets. So much Lebkuchen, so little time.
love Chump Lady