Dear Santa…


Dear Santa,

I have been a very good boy this year.  Relatively.  From a certain point of view.  Please fill my stocking with any of these things, which I have already tested by rolling in them previously:

10.  A dead snake.  I found my first one in Challis, Idaho, when I was only 8 weeks old.

9.  Deer droppings.  Scared them right out of that silly deer.  Also in Challis.

8.  Catnip.  The cats were doing it, so why not?

7.  Fish guts.  Right behind the backyard by the pond in the park.  Mom made such a big deal over it.  Sheesh!

6.  Lipstick.  That one I had to steal out of a girl’s purse while her boyfriend petted me at the skateboard park.

5.  Raspberries.  (Hahaha.  Mom panicked, thought I was bleeding.)

4.  Chewing gum.  That one made the “chewed on it” list too.

3.  Dirty laundry.  I’d do it again, if they’d let me near it.

2.  The cat.  I would get by with it, too, if the cat didn’t squeal like a sissy.

1.  (Drum roll, please)  The freshly fertilized flower bed.  You can call it eco-friendly if you want, but steer manure still smells like, well, manure.

Love, Flash

PS: I left milk and cookies out for you.  But then I ate them.  What can I say?  I’m a corgi, after all.




Missed it by That Much…


Dear Flash,

Sad state of affairs, this.  You have been passively-aggressively complaining about the cleanliness of your bed for days.  I have watched you bathe it until I thought your tongue would surely be sore and raw.  I have seen you snub said bed for one of my clean fuzzy blankets.  You have futzed and putzed and whined and groaned.  So finally I gave in and went to the trouble of stripping, washing, drying, and enlisting Jay’s help to properly fluff your bed.  At first at seemed as if you would be satisfied, dare I even say approach a state of nirvana?  But then, alas!  A sideways glance and the tongue comes out again.

Love, Nina


Rho rho



Dear Flash,

I imagine, in your mind’s eye, that this is a completely justifiable outcome.  The household must have been in imminent danger for you to behave in such a careless manner for the ornament to drop from the tree and shatter on the floor.  You know, like a cat sitting on the window sill looking out at the birds, and needing to be chased back to his bed.  Then again, judging by the pose you were striking as I was trying to clean this up, I imagine you would prefer I think this had nothing whatsoever to do with you.

Love, Nina