Christmas for the dogs
Rob Price

My wife and I tried to get an early start on our Christmas shopping last week. By the end of the day, though, the only present we had bought was a new bed for the dog. And the dog wasn't even on our list.

But we got a good deal. The bed is a giant circular floor pillow that would cost you a small fortune if you bought it from L. L. Bean. At least, that's what my wife told me. "I found it on sale for twenty-three dollars," she said.

"How much do they cost at L. L. Bean?" I said.

"About a hundred," she said.

"Ring 'er up," I said.

There were still the presents to buy for my sister-in-law and niece, who were to join us for Thanksgiving. My wife's stepfather and his wife also planned to visit us. We figured we could save several hundred dollars alone in shipping and handling charges if we just bought a few gifts before the week of Thanksgiving.

But the best-laid plans seldom work out as you hope. By the time we agreed a plaid dog's bed was preferable to a striped pattern, it was time to drive to Bath to watch our daughter in her area all-state concert. She's a senior this year, and this concert would be her last - a thought that filled me with such bittersweet memories of her childhood years, I suggested we skip the whole thing and have a glass of wine somewhere.

My wife looked at me with a horrified expression - as if I'd just suggested blowing our daughter's college money on a trip to Las Vegas - and I knew the subject was beyond further discussion. However, we did have 10 minutes or so to buy just a few more dog presents. "After all," my wife pointed out, "If we just give her a dog bed for Christmas, she'll think it's a giant toy and chew it up."

"You're right," I said. "We should buy her several smaller toys to destroy."

So, we stopped at a pet store, and my wife told me to stay in the car while she ran inside for just a few things. She came out half-an-hour later, beaming; "I bought all these great chew toys!" she said, showing me a stuffed chipmunk that squeaked, a stuffed red fox that also squeaked, and a magazine with lots of articles on golden retrievers.

We are experienced owners of golden retrievers and don't require much in the way of magazine instruction. As my wife pointed out, however, this particular magazine had lots of cute photographs of goldens, and you can never have too many of those.

All the same, I sometimes wonder if my wife and I are becoming a little loony over our dog. This wouldn't surprise me: Our daughter - the child whose area all-state concert we had to attend - will be gone at this time next year. Some college dormitory with a name like Henderson Hall will be her new home, and she'll be doing God knows what in one of the rooms while her parents are brewing themselves a cup of tea, assuming she is studying for her exams in the college library.

It only makes sense to begin transferring our affections to the dog, whose loyalty is beyond question. Incidentally, this particular dog immediately confused her new dog bed with a giant chew toy and bit several large holes in it. When we came downstairs for breakfast in the morning, white fiberfill covered most of the furniture in the living room. "It looks like it snowed!" said my wife.

Next week, probably in the middle of a real snow storm, we'll go shopping again and try to kick this holiday season into gear. By then, the dog probably will have chewed up her preliminary round of Christmas presents: Chippy the Squeaky Chipmunk; Vixy the Squeaky Fox. My wife probably will want to look for another good deal on dog beds, although I have the feeling a phone call to L.L.. Bean is in my future.

In the meantime, as I write these words, we are waiting for a few dozen of our closest relatives to set up camp in our house. We don't have any presents to hand out, but there will probably be lots of white fiberfill covering the living room and putting everyone in a holiday mood.

There's nothing like a golden retriever to make you appreciate the snow.