It’s a bit late, I know, but I have a Christmas tale to tell. I failed completely to take a full picture of the tree this year, though I did take some pictures of my favourite ornaments.
I didn’t really feel the urge to take a picture of the tree because it didn’t take long for it to look a bit… sparse, shall we say.
Going backwards a bit, I recently started playing a game with Gwynn. It’s called “The box game” since I’m unoriginal and unimaginative in naming things. Basically, I put all his toys in a box that is in our living room (half tidying, half game), and when I’m trying to get him to play with me a bit, I’ll get all excited and point at the box and say something along the lines of “oooh, what’s in the box?!”. He’ll pick up on the excitement and rummage through the box, and pull something out… and we’ll play. I’ll admit, this isn’t exactly groundbreaking. It does make him immensely excited about whatever toy he chooses (sometimes he pulls some out before picking one to actually start playing with), and the box has become a solo game for him as well. It’s like Christmas – the excitement of rummaging through a box.
You hear on a regular basis that dogs don’t generalize well. This explains why Gwynn is so good at the play dead command when we’re in the living room, and sometimes just stares at me when we’re visiting my grandma.
Well, Gwynn generalized right out of his toy box and into the Christmas spirit. With the same forced nonchalance as a toddler trying to walk out of the kitchen with the entire bag of cookies, Gwynn would walk up to the tree to inspect it. He would oh-so-gently pluck an ornament off a branch, and ever so casually walk away from the tree. If he could whistle, he would.
Party pooper that I am, I would calmly take the ‘toy’ (aka tiny Santa, frosty plushie, little twig reindeer, or childhood Christmas art) and hang it back on the tree… higher.
Gwynn was baffled as to why I wasn’t playing the game properly. I was really determined that I wouldn’t be dealing with Gwynn having to poop out a small very pointy-hatted Santa.
As the days until we removed the ornaments, packed up the boxes of not-toys, and unceremoniously kicked our conifer to the kerb went by, the tree looked more and more off-balance.
Gwynn was baffled further, when, upon receiving a plush camel for Christmas, I didn’t hand it over. What did I mean, ‘it’s not for you’? It’s a stuffie! Stuffies are for dogs!
Who says dogs can’t generalize?