Mother wrapped piles of Christmas presents each year. She wrapped and wrapped and wrapped. At the same time, she did her best to keep us four kids out from under the tree, where we’d shake each parcel and try to guess what made that funny rattle.
One Christmas eve she stationed our dog, a 12 pound curly-haired, black “Cocka-pomma-peeka-poo” with French Provincial legs (oxymoronically named Brutus), under the tree to “guard” the packages.
Now Brutus loved chocolate. And underneath the tree, somewhere in that mountain of gifts, there just happened to be a Whitman’s Sampler, several pounds of M&Ms, and a very large milk carton of malted milk balls.
Assigned the important job of “sit and stay,” Brutus dutifully burrowed beneath the branches and curled up among the colored paper-wrapped boxes. He growled a low, throaty growl at anyone who came within an arm’s length of those sweet-smelling presents.
Unfortunately, when Dad arrived home, still in his white lab-type coat from work (later Mom would blame what happened on the fact that the Veterinarian who gave shots wore a similar jacket), no one told him that Brutus was protecting the tree.
Dad, unable to hear the warning sounds from the dog over the blaring stereo playing a rousing rendition of “Deck the Halls,” made the mistake of reaching down to put a package right next to the malt balls. Brutus did the only thing he could think of to do. He bit him.
Dad yelled something unrepeatable and quickly pulled his hand back. We kids stood holding our breath, worried what Dad might do as he carefully examined his hand. Fortunately, no skin was broken. He turned and glowered at Mom.
“Unh-unh-unh…” Mom wagged a finger at him. “That’s what happens when you try to come between the dog and his chocolate.”
“The dog—,” Dad spat out, but then he realized it was Christmas Eve, and his children were all within earshot. He took a deep breath, and began again in a much calmer tone, “The dog deserves coal in his stocking.”
“He was only doing his job, you know,” said Mom.
“Don’t push it,” replied Dad. “Don’t you dare say another word.”
And for once, Mom kept quiet.