A Christmas Story...

It was Tadg’s first Christmas… the Yellow Lab I got in October 2003, who grew by the hour those first several months.

To answer the question I know you're thinking… Tadg was the name of one of 14 sons to King Olliol Ollum who ruled Co. Tipperary in Ireland around 1000 B.C. My great grand mother had gotten me started on our genealogy by having our family roots researched and had traced our family back to this King. I always thought it was a cool name, and therefore named my dog Tadg (rhymes with badge). So…

I had traveled to my parents for the holiday to spend the usual every other Christmas celebration with family arriving from all over. Many of us stayed at mom and dad’s while the main day celebration was at another relative’s home about two hours away. With the large number of people for the main dinner Tadg was left at home to protect the tree, and hopefully not water it in our absence. As the dinner feast settled in my stomach I kept a close eye on my watch as it ticked closer to the expiration of a young dog’s bladder. Those in Turkey comas were awakened and given coffee and a rush of sugar on a plate. After the gift exchange was conducted by the youngest in the family, adorned with a Santa hat of course, I signaled the family traveling with me it was time. Leftovers were divided up and everything packed back into the bags they came in. Coats gathered at the door, the engines were running and we were back on the road. The drive home reminisced the previous hours spent with the family. The “Did she tell you about,” “did you hear he,” and “hasn’t he grown” conversation made sure everyone was on the same page. The time passed with conversation and music and we eventually pulled into the drive at my parents home. I made it quickly to the house through the garage to give the young pup his reprieve.

I got as far as the kitchen island and I could already hear him galloping around the living room with his tags jingling like he was some sort of reindeer. You’d have thought he was in some sort of race as he dashed around the couches, his nails just gripping the Berber carpet. I noticed from the corner of my eye something on the floor kind of strewn there and not recognizable... small pieces of wood and what looked like tree branches. My dad escorted Tadg outside and left me to reveal the identity of what ever this was. After closer inspection and utilizing skills learned from the few CSI shows I have seen in my life, I reached my verdict. In all my life under the Christmas tree sat a nativity scene and a clay animal. The clay adolescent artwork I had made for my mom I think in elementary school. Although I can’t remember what animal it was supposed to be, to me it always looked like a brownish-orange rat with a shinny glazed coat. But I made it for mom one year, and so there is sat every holiday to protect the holy icons of the nativity scene. That year though the rat or what ever it is (I've been informed it's a donkey) failed miserably. Now with mini-mom and Auntie M (that’s what I call them) helping me, I gathered the pieces of the nativity scene that was given to my dad by the priest that presided over the church he grew up in… the church in which he was an altar boy… and the same priest that married my parents. The search party looked through the room and collectively came up with Mary… with a little drool… Joseph… a bit chewed up… and three wise men. After running Tadg for a bit my dad came back in the house and questioned as to the mess the dog had made. When the mystery was revealed you could see in his eyes the disappointment, and my heart sank. We still though were on a search… our young savior was missing.

The search went on into the night but came up empty as the baby Jesus was no where to be found. However a partially eaten bag of Christmas colored Hershey Kisses was discovered near the fireplace. This latest discovery alarmed me as everyone knows chocolate is no friend to dogs. The hunt for baby Jesus quickly went cold and I made my way to a computer to find the number of the nearest vet, or any animal care giver that could be reached at 10 pm on Christmas night. With the size of Tadg and the amount he ate I was assured he would be alright, just a little hyper, and to keep an eye on him. Now take one sixty pound- four month old lab… then add some Hershey’s kisses, Christmas colored of course… and you’ve got yourself a big mess! For the next day or so it was like having a drooling Tasmanian devil running amuck. Well, time went on as the family was put on an amber alert for the still missing baby Jesus. Everyone who has ever had a puppy knows what a handful they can be, even little terrors at time. It was now evident though that my precious little puppy was indeed the anti-Christ. Walks with Tadg turned investigative to see if maybe baby Jesus would show up in the gifts he left in the yard, now sparkling from the candy wrappers. Days turned into nights, and still no baby Jesus.

A few nights later while we played Turbo Cranium at the dinner table, Tadg laid at my feet as he always does. The game was suddenly interrupted as a noticeable sound came from under the table. That recognizable heaving sound that every parent and dog owner knows. Suddenly the search was over as Tadg yakked up the baby Jesus, reborn unto us three days after he had gone missing. Now I’m not sure if you would consider it a joyful moment, but at least our questions and days of searching were over. With the family living so far apart it’s rare that we can all get together, but this Christmas Tadg made it special by giving us a two for one on our holiday celebrations. Happy Holidays!