Last year, at Christmas, I inspected my mom and dad's Christmas tree.
"Hey! You didn't put Pupcake at the top!"
My mom hesitated. And not in that "I'm not listening" way.
"I can't find her ornament."
When I was just a wee one, my dad's boss decided I needed a dog and bought me a Beagle. She was a beaut, my poor little Pupcake.
She loved everybody. And everyone loved her. At some point, for Christmas, someone gave Pupcake her very own ornament. It's a gold dog engraved with her name. That's how special she was.
She was crazy, too. She would hear us come home and flip out trying to get inside to see us. We would let her in and she would run circles around the house, unable to contain her excitement.
Unfortunately, it really didn't take much to get her all worked up. We loved to watch her run in circles. It was hilarious and a little scary. You definitely didn't want to be in her path.
One night, my friend from across the street and I had Pupcake holed up in my bedroom while we waited for my grandparents to arrive from Missouri. We got her going crazy. She was running her circles around the room when we heard my mom holler "They're here!"
We opened the door and Pupcake shot out of my room. Unfortunately, the front door was open, too, and she was down the street before I even made it outside.
I'll spare you the details; the long hours waiting to hear her scratching at the door, the guilt, the devastation. I think you can figure out how that story ends.
Knowing all this, it's understandable that I flipped out when Pupcake's ornament went missing. Well, if not understandable, if you know me, it's not surprising.
The other night, I was talking to my dad when he suddenly got excited. "Did we tell you we found Pupcake's ornament?"
It was like a Christmas miracle!
Apparently, Mom was adjusting the branches of the tree after unpacking it from the box and Pupcake just kinda tumbled out. I guess the ornament never got pulled off the tree two years ago and was buried way inside the tree.
So this holiday, with Pupcake at the top of the tree (just warning you, Mom. She'd better be top and center!) we can have a happy Christmas with no (less?) freakouts from yours truly.