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If you missed Dee's first letter click Dear Santa No. 1 or her second one click Dear Santa No. 2.
Dear
Santa,
It’s me again. Dee. You know, the
53-year-old widow living with her son, pregnant daughter, son-in-law, two
grandsons, a granddaughter, two dogs, a cat, and umpteen rabbits.
I’m still sleeping in the basement which
used to be very nice. Well, it still would be nice if it weren’t for the
rabbits. Rodney assures me that the smell will not saturate the walls and
flooring. The floors are quarry tile. Marvin, my late husband, chose the
flooring because he thought it would withstand just about anything that could
happen to it. Though I doubt he considered the possibility of rabbits.
Friday was the last day of school before
Christmas break. I must have been mad to volunteer to watch the kids while Becca
and Thurman are at work. Becca plans to work until she starts labor. I’m glad
they’re expecting another girl. Then they’ll have two boys and two girls.
They’re having trouble scheduling
contractors to repair their house. The holidays, and all that.
Maybe you remember that Thurman is a cop.
He planned to take care of the children while Becca works, but he works all
kinds of hours. Mostly while the children sleep, so he needs to sleep while
they’re awake. I’m not sure how I’m going to manage.
I thought Rodney – my son, the one with
the rabbits – would help. He quit his job. Said he just didn’t fit in. He
doesn’t mind cooking for all of us and he’s good at it. But Saturday morning
and all day yesterday with me and the kids and the critters was enough to get him
job-hunting.
Not that I’m complaining. I know it’s
temporary. Lots of grandparents don’t get to spend time with their
grandchildren. Marvin would have loved the full house. Dogs, kids, and all.
Well, I don’t know how he would have felt about the rabbits.
Michael – that’s the oldest grandson –
he’s almost ten and plays the violin. Luckily most days are nice enough he can
practice outside on the deck. I don’t know what the neighbors think. Jerry –
the next grand – is eight and has just started the violin which means he’s
still playing on a tissue box with a paper towel tube for a neck. Learning to
hold it properly, they say. Thank goodness for small mercies.
And Maggie, dear little Maggie. She’s five
and very bright. She wants to know everything. But if I hear “Why, Grandma?”
one more time, I’m going to lock myself in with the rabbits until New Years.
Cleo, my cat, hasn’t been upstairs since I
rescued her from the dogs that first day. Truth be told, Becca rescued both of
us. Not that the dogs are bad dogs. No one could expect a dog to overlook being
attacked by a hissing, spitting monster.
If the kids slept as much as the dogs do,
I’d be more rested. After Maggie’s nap, we went to the park. We had to walk the
dogs anyway. I took Buddy. He’s like me. He appreciates peace and quiet.
Michael was in charge of his little sister and I figured Jerry could keep up
with Rocky. Maybe tire them both out.
At less than a year old Rocky is bigger
than most grown dogs. But he’s still a rowdy pup. He tries to mind. You can
tell. The way he looks at you knowing he won’t get permission to do whatever it
is he longs for.
Our parks are well-used, especially on
sunny days. Meredith, who lives two streets over was there with her daughter
Meghan and their great lug of a dog named Bruno. Meghan is most likely on your
“good child” list. I’m sure Bruno is good, too. He looks like a cross between a
St. Bernard and a Great Dane – too much hair and too big.
Louise Fenton was there with her little
Dachshund Mac. Louise always looks so nice, full make-up and coiffed, just to
walk her dog.
When I stopped to talk to her, I guess Mac
thought Buddy was too close to her and she needed protecting. He screamed and
went for Buddy. (I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a dog make a sound like that.)
Buddy and I were shocked. Rocky apparently
thought the Dachshund was attacking us – which I fully believed, myself. He came
across the playground at a dead run, dragging Jerry behind him. He charged
under the swing Maggie was in and tipped her out onto the ground. Jerry lost
hold of Rocky’s leash when he crashed into Michael who was trying to catch
Maggie.
Poor Buddy pulled back on his leash trying
to stay away from Mac. I guess with Rocky bearing down on him, that Dachshund felt
the need to run. His leash was around Louise’s ankles when he ran between Bruno’s
legs. And then Louise was on the ground with me standing over her holding tight
to Buddy’s leash so he wouldn’t join Rocky in the chase.
Bruno pulled free from Meredith and knocked
poor little Meghan down. Now, there were two little girls and Jerry crying.
As big as Bruno is, I doubt that he’d ever
felt the need to be fierce. He must have felt threatened then or he’d never
have attacked Buddy.
There I was hanging on to Buddy’s leash
for dear life. Because I wouldn’t let go, Buddy couldn’t get away from Bruno. He
had to fight back. But I knew if I let go, I’d have no control of either dog.
You’re never supposed to get in the middle
of a dog fight. I knew that, but what could I do? I jerked on Buddy’s leash and
pulled him away enough to thrust my hip in Bruno’s face and get between them.
The minute I got between them, they stopped fighting.
Forgetting that he
wanted to defend Buddy from Mac (the crazed Dachshund) Rocky ran away from the
commotion toward the street. Such screeching and honking, you’ve never heard. What
good those idiot drivers thought they’d do honking at a dog and a boy, I can’t
imagine.
Mac the Dachshund sat there as calm as
could be watching the whole thing. Like none of it had anything to do with him.
Hope your day went better than mine. I
think I may have pulled something in my right side.
Tomorrow is bound to be better.
Hopefully
yours,
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