Danny’s Annual Christmas Message

Well, it’s that time of year where I have to set the world right with my message of peace and love. It’s a big responsibility, but it’s the least that I can do for my fellow canines and their humans.

I reckon I should first introduce myself to those of you who have been off planet for the last few years. I am Danny the Dog, dog extraordinaire. Humans wait with bated breath for my monthly epistles to appear in print. Scientists consult me for the cure of various diseases. And Andrew, my human, needs me to turn on his computer every morning. You would think by now he would have mastered the complicated process of pressing a particular button, but you’d be wrong.

Before I get to my message of peace and love, I’d like to tell you a little about my trials and tribulations with Andrew this past year. Not all of them, of course, because there are just too many. We would be well into the New Year before I could complete the list.

First and foremost, he gave me a haircut. I’ve included before and after pictures to show you the ignominious, entirely egregious, humbling, humiliating, demeaning, and degrading—not to mention downright mortifying—outcome of his endeavor. Look at me before. I was majestic, magnificent, regal, and real cool looking. Now look at the after picture. What a lousy excuse for a dog. I didn’t go outside for two months while I waited for my fur to grow back. I couldn’t let my fans see me in such a sorry state of being. Now I know how Samson must have felt when he got his haircut from that duplicitous dame.

Next, I had a bone stolen from me by a criminal cat. And I think Andrew was in cahoots with the evil beast. This is what happened. A neighbor of ours who goes by the handle, “Crabby Mike” because he sells stone crabs (when they’re in season) on the street corner right outside the marina, came by and gave Andrew a big old steak bone for me. I like Crabby; he’s always bringing me bones. But this one had a lot of meat left on it and Andrew toyed with the idea of keeping it for himself. I showed him a few bared teeth and he was disabused of that idea real quick.

So we’re sitting on the dock—Andrew, in a chair, and me chewing on that luscious, juicy bone. When I had eaten most of the meat, I thought I’d save the rest for a later snack. Maybe while I’m watching The Kardashians. I can’t wait to see what Kim’s butt is going to do this week.

Anyway, I ambled off the dock and onto the grass that is beside our boat and dug a shallow hole. Then I proceeded to drop said bone into said hole and push dirt over it with my snoot. Andrew tells me he always knows when I’ve buried a bone because I come back with a dirty snoot. And I hate to admit it, but the old guy is right.

Now we get to the devious and despicable conspiracy. Mind you, I did not know about any of this while the dastardly deed was being carried out against poor little me.

With my work complete, I went back to the dock and lay down. We live at the end of the dock by ourselves because Andrew has a phobia of people. So, I was facing the other end of the dock just in case any marauding mercenaries appeared (one can never be too vigilant), and ol’ Andrew was sitting in a chair, sipping on a beer, and contemplating his navel. After a while, we went inside and did our usual canine and human things until it was time to turn in. So far, all is well in Dannyland.

The next day when I went to retrieve my treasure and resume my chewing, I received the shock of my life. It was gone. There was a residual scent, but no bone! I sniffed around, thinking I might have misplaced it, but no. My sniffer kept bringing me back to the same spot. I pawed a little at the dirt, but to no avail.

That’s when I looked up at Andrew, tilted my head in the cute, adorable way that I do, which conveyed my thoughts. Where is my damn bone? Andrew answered thusly: “I didn’t have the heart to tell you last night, but while you were guarding the dock, a cat came up behind you and sniffed around, found your bone, and ran off with it.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. What a traitor. When I accused him of skullduggery, he said that being Christmastime, we should share our abundance with the less fortunate and that is why he sat by and watched the theft without raising an alarm.

I don’t see him donating any of his beer to the Salvation Army.

I have so many other adventures to tell you about, but I guess they’ll have to wait. It is now time for my message of peace and love. And I must tell you that this message will transform the planet. When you humans read this, you will stop your ceaseless warring with one another. With your energies not directed at killing each other, a new renaissance will emerge. Arid deserts will be made to bloom. They will become cornucopias, spilling forth food to feed all of humankind. Hunger will be eliminated. Humans will reach for the stars and populate the galaxy with their progeny. And maybe, just maybe, The Kardashians will be cancelled.

So without further ado, this is my marvelous, magnificent message . . .

Oops, we’re out of time. I’ll have to tell you about it next Christmas.

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