As I was going through my stack of outgoing Christmas cards, I noticed an envelope with the address “North Pole” scrawled across it. It couldn’t have been from my wife, as she knows the truth about Santa— that being he actually lives on a tropical island. Curious, I removed the letter and saw that it was actually from our dog, Buster.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that Buster is smart enough to write a letter to Santa, seeing how he’s figured out how to get whatever he wants out of us. And so to provide some insight into what goes through a dog’s mind during the holiday season, I thought I’d share his letter with you:
Dear Santa Paws,
I’m sure that Mom and Dad have kept you up on how good a boy I’ve been since I moved in with them last summer. However, they may have said some things that could be easily misconstrued, and so I thought I’d write and give you my side of things to set the record straight.
First, I want to address the issue with Mom’s cats. When I arrived at my new house, I was appalled to discover that three cats had infested the place. So, sure I chased them. I thought I was doing Mom a favor. How was I to know that she actually likes having them around? I tell you, I can’t figure humans sometimes. Well, I haven’t chased them in a while, and the big one they call Maverick I have actually made friends with, sort of. He still has no interest in playing tug-of-war when I bring him my rope toy. Cats sure are boring.
Also, I want you to know that I only eat what Mom and Dad gives me. Almost. Yes, there was that one time when I jumped up and ate Dad’s Scotch egg off the kitchen counter. But hey, it had sausage in it, and I am a dog after all. You have to let me slide on that one.
You may have also heard that I dug a few holes in the yard. While that’s true, the holes were small, and I more than made up for it by allowing Mom to make me wear that ridiculous Santa hat she got me. (Oops, sorry, Santa; I mean, it looks good on you. It’s just that it clashes with my muzzle.)
So you see, I have been a very nice boy overall, and so I’m sure that you’ll see it fit to be very good to me this Christmas. I could really use some more toys—the squeakier and plushier the better. I’m working on a world speed record for extracting the squeakers, and it’s got a bit boring around here since it got cool and all the toads in the yard have gone away.
I want you to know that I am thankful for my new home and my new Mom and Dad. I still think about the shelter I came from and the other dogs there. While I was writing this, I saw Dad signing a piece of paper and putting it into a card for the shelter. He said the paper was to help feed the other dogs. I didn’t understand this, as I have never known a dog to eat paper, even when it’s some kid’s homework.
I’m sure that Dad has good intentions, but what I’d like to ask, Santa, on their behalf, is that for Christmas you give them all a nice home like I have here.
Love, Buster K. Neyne
P.S.: I’ll be sure to leave you a nice big bone by the chimney on Christmas Eve.