________________________________________________________________________

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung on the stairway with care (yes finally),
In hopes that Santa Claus soon would be there.

RoadDog was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of Timbits danced in his head.
And mamma in her doo-rag, and dad a Vulcan cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window we flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains to check out the bash.

The moon how it glistened on the new-fallen snow
As we gazed down in awe at the objects below.
For what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a man in black leather, and eight large reindeer.
 
All dressed in bike shirts and each straddling their ride
It was enough to make the neighbours panic and hide.
More rapid than crotch rockets in the driveway they came,
Their leader he whistled and called them by name.
 
“Now, Kawasaki! Now, Honda! Now, Yamaha and Victory!
On, BMW! On Triumph! On, Suzuki and Harley!
We’re here to see RoadDog, to give him Christmas treats,
That little biker dude is a friend to all he meets.”
 
As each one they stopped and peered at our home
A tear came to my eye and I knew there it shone.
For bikers love animals, and none more than our Jake,
Their pet food and toy runs, such a difference they make.
 
They may dress all in leather and jeans looking tough
But I knew that their hearts are more than big enough.
As I drew in my head, my eye glimpsed down below,
Santa’s bike was fully loaded, sitting there in the snow.
 
That bike was all covered with full leather bags
Holding brightly wrapped presents with ribbons and tags.
And a T-bag of goodies he had flung on his back,
He looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His shades how they twinkled, his eyes they were merry,
The cold made his cheeks rosey, his nose like a cherry.
The big guy was smiling, his teeth a bright row,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
 
He wore a red helmet, for safety of course,
In a hit with a car even Santa would get the worst.
Like many a biker, he had a bit of a belly,
And yes, it shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
 
He was tattooed and friendly, a right jolly old rider,
He was happy on his bike, his smile couldn’t be wider.
A wink of his eye under that helmet so red,
As he leaned down to pat our RoadDog on the head.
 
He then spoke a few words and went on with his deed,
He filled all the stockings and put chrome under the tree.
Then nodding to the reindeer, he went back to his ride,
He had more good work to do and clearly took pride.
 
He sprang to his seat and the pipes how the rumbled,
And away they all rode making noise like the thunder;
But I heard him call out, as he rode out of sight,
“Happy biking to all, and to all a good night.”

 
~ With thanks and apologies to Major Henry Livingston Jr. (1748-1828)
_______________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________

Our beloved Cairn terrier is driving me crazy.

Well, perhaps I should say Jake and I are driving each other crazy. This Christmas standoff is getting out of hand.

It’s that darn Christmas stocking. I know I wrote about this last year around this time (sorry if it’s repetitive for longtime readers), but this year it’s worse than ever.

I believe I might have made a mistake. In an effort to find some Christmas spirit (or maybe because I had quite a lot of Christmas spirit already bubbling), I convinced Steve that we should decorate the house last weekend. We were expecting guests so we put out our holiday trimmings.

Elves and snowmen emerged from boxes. My favourite snow globe appeared on an end table. Burgundy place mats and runners popped up on the dining room table. Various and sundry Santa Clauses began hanging out all around the house. The little wooden Christmas tree with tinkling bells started guarding the bottom of the stairs.

Jake watched it all unfold without too much enthusiasm, that is until I opened a box that had the Christmas stockings laying in wait inside. Then his nose was in the box. And then he was at my feet staring at me, watching my every move — just waiting — and waiting — and waiting.

I couldn’t hang the stockings. Once they go up, our boy can find no peace. He’s up and down constantly sniffing at his stocking, sticking his nose inside, swiping at it with his paw to make sure there’s nothing inside. It’s hard to watch, really it is.

So I put the stockings upstairs where he wouldn’t have to look at them. And Jake was not happy.

Steve and I aren’t sure if he sulked, moped or suffered depression all last week, but we hardly saw him. He just laid about and slept. He didn’t come to play ball in the evenings for almost a week. He would start to play with a toy once in awhile, but then give up like his heart just wasn’t in it. Every now and again he’d look at the stairs where his stocking goes and glance at me with big soulful doggie eyes. It was beyond sad. It bordered on painful.

I just don’t know what to do. It’s still almost two weeks until Christmas. We put the tree up this weekend, but other than sticking his nose in the ornament box — possibly in search of that darn stocking — Jake just kind of ignored it and us. If I don’t hang the stockings, he’ll mope. If I do hang the stockings, he’ll sniff and paw and be upset that his is empty. What to do? Never mind that I haven’t baked cookies and the gifts aren’t yet wrapped — this is my Christmas dilemma and it comes with big brown eyes and a pouty tongue.

Next year, maybe I won’t decorate until about December 23.

____________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________

Isn’t there some saying about age and revisiting the past? Or maybe something about how you can’t go back to where you’ve been? Well, apparently I might be getting a tad nostalgic as I get older.

This summer, while on our trip to New England, Steve and I decided (well, to be honest I think I suggested and hubby agreed) to spend a few days in Camden, Maine. I’ll explain.

Steve and I marked our 20th anniversary in October. Even writing that makes me shake my head because I just can’t believe we’ve been married for 20 years. (I’m now chuckling … I wonder if Steve would agree with that.)

Anyway, 20 years ago, we honeymooned in Maine, spending a few days at Sugarloaf, a day or two in Camden and a few days in, you guessed it, Bar Harbor. As regular readers know, we’ve been back to Bar Harbor a number of times since then. We’ve also stopped in Camden a few times for an hour or two, but we’ve never stayed there long enough to really get to know the place again, or at least we hadn’t until this past August. I had thought about staying in Camden this summer and when I did some research and discovered it’s very dog-friendly, I concluded we really should go there.

We weren’t disappointed. We stayed in a beautiful dog-friendly hotel just off the main street. Jake was greeted with his own floppy bed, doggie dishes, a new bouncy ball and treats. We were greeted with friendly Maine hospitality.

Camden is a wonderful little town with fabulous restaurants and wonderful shops. Jake joined us for most of our meals, including lunch at one outdoor café where the waitress doted on him so much that I wondered if the diners inside were getting any attention. Jake, of course, loved that and the lobster I slipped him under the table.

I will confess, one of the highlights for Steve and I didn’t involve our boy though. Twenty years ago, we ate a couple of times at a fun restaurant/pub called Cappy’s … and there it was on the very same corner … and it had the very same fun atmosphere we remembered. We had dinner there two nights in a row, reminiscing about our first trip to Camden, chatting about our trip and planning to return again some day.

Camden was good to us … again. Apparently, you can revisit the past, especially if you take RoadDog along for the ride.

_______________________________________________________________________