By Grace Acosta
When Christmas is over, my husband and daughter shop Target’s after-holiday sale and, among other things, purchase Parker’s Christmas present for the following year. Last year at this time they snagged a boxed gift set - complete with bowl, chew toy, biscuits and blanket - $30 worth of merchandise for under $10.
Storing it away, my dilemma was this: Should I split up the items and make individually wrapped presents for Parker, or should I keep everything in the box? Which would Parker prefer? Quality or quantity? I posed the question aloud to the family. “Hey, should I open this up and separate everything so Parker thinks he’s getting lots of stuff, or should I leave it intact so he can have one huge present?”
Answers came flying back: “Who cares? He’s a dog.” “He won’t notice either way; he can’t count.” “All he’s really going to want are the dog treats, so does it matter?” I was appalled by the obvious display of indifference.
“You know,” I countered somewhat defensively, “just because Parker is a dog doesn’t mean that he isn’t a member of the family and his feelings don’t count. You all expect Christmas to be happy, and to have your own little wishes granted, but somehow you think it’s different for Parker. That’s not fair; it’s his Christmas, too!”
There were perhaps 10 seconds of stunned silence while everyone just stared. Then the howling started. My entire family broke down laughing, occasionally stopping long enough to wail in false, plaintive tones, “It’s HIS Christmas, too-ooh!”
Meanwhile, Parker sat on the couch, disinterested and unperturbed, while I endured the taunting for several minutes.
Since then, it’s been a recurring joke in our house. All I’ve heard for the past year are proclamations like, “It’s his Wednesday afternoon, too!” or “It’s his last day of school, too!” or “It’s his Veterans Day, too!” whenever I am being accused of overindulging the dog. I’ve even heard, “It’s his funeral, too!” which was genuinely unfair because Parker did not attend that particular event, and I had been merely trying to ensure that his weekend day-care arrangements were acceptable.
It’s never been a family secret that I am putty in Parker’s paws, so why my defense of his right to enjoy the holidays suddenly qualifies me as having slipped over the edge of the sanity cliff remains a mystery to me. My husband and daughter, for example, attend the Target sale every year, and they are the ones who actually buy all the Christmas paraphernalia that we have no room for - plus a present for the dog - so to my mind, there’s a pot calling a kettle black somewhere in this scenario.
Nonetheless, I remain elected as she who has lost all her marbles, so you can bet that this week, when those two return from their foraging, I am keeping my mouth shut. This time, I’m going to silently tuck Parker’s gift away, and make ready to ring in 2007. But, on Jan. 1, I’ll be saving him a piece of sushi from our family party. After all, it’s his New Year’s Day, too.
