Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

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.

Amy’s Mom gave her the wrong blanket for Christmas. She’d chattered for weeks about the red one with blue stars. This blue blanket simply wouldn’t do so Amy threw it away. Amy’s dog liked every kind of blanket. This new one seemed just right to him, red stars for his paws, blue sky clamped tight in his jaws. Perfect he thought. Amy’s dog liked the blanket so much he took it for a walk. An old man under the viaduct was shivering on a newspaper bed. Amy’s dog dropped the blanket and carried the newspaper back home to Amy instead.

Mom said the baby was a wonderful Christmas present. Dan thought his train was more fun and the computer games looked more interesting. The baby was wrinkled and icky, smelled odd, and made a funny noise. “He’s your brother,” said Dad. “Your best friend,” said Mom. But Dan said “Yuk.” Dan’s Dad found a photo of Dan as a new-born baby, looking wrinkled and icky, with his face scrunched up to make a funny noise. “Look at you,” said Dad. “You turned out okay; I’m sure your brother will too.” Maybe next Christmas thought Dan, going back to play trains.

He watched the house empty out again this morning. Mom snatched the children from bed. “No more holidays,” she said. Dad grabbed his computer-bag and a lunch-box that smelled of turkey and ham. “Can Sam come too,” asked the kids as Mom loaded the car. He’d enjoyed their company so much. But, “No,” said Mom. “Dogs stay home.” So he watched them go. Delicious smells still drifted from the fridge. Sam’s nose, pressed close to the door, felt it move, blasting cold. Delicious indeed. Then, warm and sated, he lay on the rug, and waited for them to come home.

On the sofa a mother sat suckling her child, shirt untidy, undone, drawn carefully back, and a blanket wrapped warm on her shoulder. The baby’s suckling murmured and sighed and the music of Christmas replied with whispering smile. On the floor a little girl sat nursing her doll, rumpled dress pulled wide, towel hanging from her shoulder. The baby’s suckling sound she made were her own imitation of her brother’s hum. In the manger scene a mother gazed down at her son. Shepherds and kings gazed too, and father, and sheep. The son gazed up. And the Son gazes down.

Papers were scattered across the floor, bright wrappings in tangled heaps, dull newsprint lying in flat carpet-squares. Boxes were torn and upended and toys ruled supreme. Father and grandfather crouched on living-room floor, aching knees ignored. Backs bent; wrists reached; eyes glowed with pleasures in store. They fitted track to terminus, circle to straight, and loops to points. They snapped the cars to carriages to engine and flipped the switch. “Daddy,” said the child. “In a minute. Nearly done.” “Please,” said the child, hands on hips, staring down hopefully. “Isn’t it my turn to play with my Christmas presents now?”

In the morning he barked at the milkman, postman and kids from down the street. He should’ve been kinder to the mailman though, ‘cause the parcels smelled savory and sweet. At lunchtime he barked in the kitchen but no one there had time for him. They gave him an ancient biscuit from the end of the pack. In the afternoon he barked at the cat and the squirrels and the birds. In the evening he barked at the tree. They said “Don’t touch,” and went to bed. And at night-time he waited silently by the fireplace for Santa to arrive.