Back for a second engagement: the Five Dog Holiday. Same five dogs: mine and my parents;, but this time it’s Christmas and the location is Bentonville, Arkansas, instead of Norman, Oklahoma.
This was the first time in my life to host my family for Christmas. And only the second time in my life to have Christmas morning in my own home. Always before we stayed at my folks’ house on Christmas Eve, or else X and were traveling to various of his parents homes in the arid west. This remarkable event occurred this year at the request of my son, who loves our new house and loves having his grandparents spend the weekend with us.
As turnabout is fair play, they brought their two dogs to our place this time. With three adults, an eleven-year-old, and five lapdogs of sizes ranging from 5 pounds to 80 pounds, two sofas provided meager seating. On several occasions, my gentle-hearted father pulled up a dining room chair to sit in, rather than dislodge a sleeping dog. I, however, was not so kind. Dogs got the boot when I needed a place to sit.
My folks took my bedroom and I bunked—literally—with Grayson. The bottom bunk, in fact, which I shared with a minimum of two dogs nightly. Fortunately, neither I nor the dogs are too picky about our sleeping arrangements.
The holiday was lovely: casual, comfortable, and warm. I made pie crust with my mother. (Okay, I watched and took notes. She made pie crust.) I stayed up too late and drank too much wine with my father. Grayson bounced off the walls and ceiling in anticipation but otherwise remained as inert as possible, only changing out of pajamas when specifically requested to do so.
On Christmas Eve day my dad and I went on a real-estate reconnaissance drive-about in nearby Bella Vista, where I’m considering buying a house. We tooled around the winding Ozark roads, checking out neighborhoods. My dad’s characteristic litany of possible drawbacks to the area (“You’ll never get to work in the winter on these roads;” “You’re in real trouble if a forest fire starts here;” “Water runoff is going to a problem on these steep hillsides…”) ran absolutely dry when he saw the little rock and wood cottage with a lake view that I was considering. In spite of finding dry rot on the siding and facia boards in need of replacement, he was All Systems Go on the possible purchase from there on out. Lakeside living is his dream, after all.
We ate well, drank more-than-well, and even slept some, though Grayson’s and the dogs’ idea of “sleeping in” is quite different from ours, and my neighbors got into a drunken fight in the back yard that woke us at 5 a.m. the morning after Christmas. The dogs raced out to add to the melee on the other side of the fence, barking so hysterically that I was convinced at first there were at least two other dogs involved, and was even afraid that the dogs were attacking someone. But no. Drunk no. 1 was pounding the boards of the fence on his side so hard we found three of them broken out in the morning, while Drunk no. 2 yelled at him: “Connor! Connor! Connor!” and my dogs barked. After I finally dragged them back indoors, the drama subsided over the fence into sobs, though voices were raised at least twice more before I finally got back to sleep an hour later.
Ah, the holidays! When family come together to share fond memories….
I, at least, am blessed with a loving, fun and wonderful family. No fistfights or drunken screaming matches required.
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