My sister stopped by to make Sparky and I look silly.  That was nice.

Afterward, Sparky wanted me to explain Christmas.  He missed the point of the whole thing.  Now Sparky wants to meet a donkey so they could be friends, he accused me of making up camels because they don’t seem plausible at all and he wants to go to a stable.  With all that straw, there must be a bunch of mice, and chasing mice is even more fun than Mr. Moose.

Failing at the true meaning of Christmas, I switched to Santa Clause and gift-giving.  Sparky doesn’t understand gifts.  To him, if he sees a toy, he has a toy.  I asked if he wanted something special for Christmas.  Something that he always wanted, but that wasn’t a dead raccoon or rotisserie chicken.

Sparky wants a bunch of mice.  Not pet mice, but a bunch of mice running around the house.  I wonder why I even talk to him.

I’m getting Sparky a dog warmer.  It looks like this:

I’m not going to tell him about it, but just put it in his bed when he isn’t looking. Sparky would take umbrage at the suggestion that he needs pampering.

Sparky is fond of laying in front of a warm fire. The house is like 75o, but he loves sleeping in front of the wood stove.  When I pet him, he is really warm.  He’s a hotdog that looks like a haggis.

It isn’t pampering.  With the wood stove, the house is warm, but my bedroom is cool.  It’s great for sleeping, but Sparky doesn’t have a fluffy comforter.  He wouldn’t want one, he is not for burrowing in to sleep.  In the evening, he wants to sleep by the fire instead of going into the bedroom.  That’s okay with me, he can do whatever he wants, but he eventually comes into the bedroom in case I need him for something.

In the morning, his ears are often cold.  That’s how you can tell a dog is too cold.

I am an accommodating guy, but people who let their dog sleep in bed with them, seem gross.  Sparky farts out of his mouth and has some glands in back that I don’t understand.  He isn’t allowed on the couch until I spread out a blanket. 

Besides, my bed is elevated, like this.

Sparky would spend the whole time peering over the edge, trying to judge whether or not he could survive a jump to the floor.  Darn it, now I want to put Sparky in my bed to see if he would  jump or not. 

He would be polite about it.  When I put him in bed, he would lick his paws a bunch of times to make sure they were clean.  A bunch of slobber from a guy who farts out of his mouth isn’t my idea of clean, but Sparky doesn’t agree.  Plus, those butt glands.

If he decided not to jump, he would spend the night sitting next to me, wondering what is expected of him.  Sparky wouldn’t lay down because that would seem creepy, like he wants to spoon or something.

So, Sparky gets a bed warmer.  I hope he doesn’t get me anything.