They kept him in a paper-wrapped box, and planted him in a place scented with pine. He dreamed outdoors, sweet earth beneath his paws.
Morning brought music, loud laughter, bright lights and wrappings all soggy and damp. Pup wagged his tail and they carried him round in a handbag till time for bed.
Tree tossed; the pup was left out in the shed. He pined for his pine, searched the roadside and hid by its scent. “Not even twelfth night yet,” sighed a passer-by. “Poor wet little thing.” She took him home, best gift, best friend, happily ending the tale.