On the first day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, a fat
cat in a fur tree…
It was time for the annual Christmas concert, and it wasn’t
even Christmas yet. The Bombshell had whispered in my ear that it was time to
announce the concert would start.
All the adults, exhausted from over-indulging in an Aussie
seafood feast, were all too happy to oblige: as long as they didn’t have to get
up from their chairs.
On the second day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, two
chewed up slippers…
The Bombshell was the picture of seriousness. Standing straight
and tall, book in her hands, she sang with the manner of an English Beefeater.
No matter what was happening around
her, she would continue to sing.
On the third day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, three
French poodles…
This song was way too long for the Mop, who promptly took to
the stage, grabbed a plastic rake as a microphone and began singing her own song.
Not entirely sure what song it was.
'Shhhhh,' all the adults told her. 'You’ll get your turn in a
moment'.
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, four
pointers pointing…
Breaking free from her Auntie’s grip, Baldy was determined
to take her rightful place on stage. In the manner only an almost-two year old
can muster, she began break-dancing, doing rolly-polies, dizzy-whizzies and
egging the crowd on for cheers.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, five
old hounds…
I watched the faces of the family, chuckles suppressed. We were
all trying so hard to keep our attention on the Bombshell, who was pushing
through despite the competition.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, six pooches
playing…
The Mop was surreptitiously moving her chair forward. Her microphone
had morphed into a trumpet, and occasionally she was waving it around over her
head. It’s difficult to tell whether she was deliberately trying to hit Baldy
who was flinging herself around, or whether it was just a happy coincidence.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, seven
mutts a’dreaming…
Man this song was long. Why did there need to be twelve days
of Christmas?
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, eight
canines skating…
I had to admire the Bombshell’s fortitude. Almost no one was
able to listen to her. Baldy kept popping up in front of her, raising her arms
and shouting ‘ta da!’ at which point everyone (except the Bombshell) needed to
yell ‘Ta da!’ back at her.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, nine fleabags
fencing…
Anyone else would have given up by now, but I knew she was
desperate to get to the eleventh day. We had read the book for the first time a
few days earlier and it was every kid’s dream: to be able to talk about naughty
things in front of adults and not get yelled at. She was going to soldier on.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, ten labs
a’licking…
Besides, I had seen the script the Bombshell had neatly
written out that morning. After she sang the worlds-longest and most annoying
Christmas song, she planned on reading a story to everyone. There was no way
she was given up her spot in the limelight.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, twelve
dogs a digging…
‘Didn’t you forget one?’ I called out to the Bombshell. ‘Shhhh,’
everyone hissed at me, not wanting yet another verse.
The Bombshell paused and turned back a page. ‘Ah yes, thank you,’
she said.
She took a deep breath and another pause for effect.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, eleven
puppies pooping…
‘Did she say pooping?’ my father-in-law whispered with a
grin.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true dog sent to me, twelve
dogs a digging…
Such applause, such acclaim. We were all so grateful she
made it through, we were rapturous in our congratulations.
Baldy thought the applause was for her, jumping up and
shouting ‘ta da!’
The Bombshell gave a neat bow, a satisfied smile on her
face.
The Mop dragged her chair further forward and tried to grab
at the Twelve Dogs of Christmas.
‘My turn,’ she wailed.
Nooooooooo.
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| Merry Christmas from Curly Mop, the Blonde Bombshell and Baldy Baby |
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