Here’s the whole story. We lost our family dog, Smalls, three years ago. Smalls was my pet. I’d had him for 14.5 years, and he was a loving, ever-hungry beagle (of course, I only remember his good side). The kids appear to get so sad when we talk about him, although sadly, they didn’t really know him. But I don’t say that to them; I just smile and brace myself for what I know they are going to say next. “Can we please get a dog?!”
They ask this at least five times a day, and have for quite some time. I have explained on multiple occasions that we do want another dog and that we will get one, but we have to slow down our travel first. I try to help them understand that dogs don’t like it when their owners are gone, that they like routine. And finally, after hearing me explain our reasons for waiting for the umpteenth time, that’s when my daughter said, “Fine. I am gonna ask Santa for a puppy!”
Hold the phone! Can she do that? I was looking for a referee to throw a flag! No ref. No flag. Just me, my daughter … and Santa.
In response, I told her that Santa couldn't deliver live animals. . . Read the rest and find out why I'm the "best hooker ever" on my Semi-Chlorinated Life babble voices blog.