A Very Merry Christmas!
It was Jade who first decided that this Christmas, here at Wylanbriar, needed jazzing up. It needed glitz, glamour and more than a little festive theatrics! She sighed to Mallie she was sick of a badly wrapped packet of Smackoos, a cuddle and a wet boring day in the kennel!
So her ‘Lovey darling’ side took over.
Early this morning, in the kennels, she was seen to be practicing her dramatic stage entrances. Weakly holding up a paw to stop the imaginary applause she heard each time she stepped from the kennel into the run, and back again. After a short time Mallie grunted ‘For Christ sake Dame Judi, can you pack that IN please!!’
‘I’ve made a decision’. Jade trilled. ‘We are HAVING a Nativity play. Today. Here. All of us. No excuses. Not even from YOU Mr Sick Note’ as she glared at Deeds. The response was underwhelming. Everyone looked at each other and then back at Jade. ‘Really?’ Said Mallie. ‘Where? Exactly?’….
‘HERE!’ Jade said throwing her arms wide to indicate the kennel as a replica stable. The wood shavings in the pups run as comedy snow. The dangling cobwebs as decorations. And, of course, Jade as the Fairy Godmother. This was, of course, the whole point of the damn thing. For Jade to have free licence to get into a glittery dress with killer heels and a sparkly wand for a couple of hours. She gently tapped Deeds on the head with it ‘Abracadabca! Turn to ****!’ she trilled insultingly, prompting Deeds to lose interest in the whole thing and the pups to titter childishly amongst themselves.
‘OK, so what part does everyone want to play then?’ she stared at them all pointedly.
‘I want to be a Pirate’ young Tom said from the back. ‘I want a cutlas, and a plank and a eye patch…. I-wanna-be-a-Pirate!!!’ Jade rolled her eyes…. ‘Tom darling’, she said gently, ‘I REALLY don’t think there were many Pirates at the birth of Christ now were there sweetie?’
Shiney stamped forward with Tom by the paw… ‘Oyyy you, Miss twinkletoes, if me boy wants to be a Pirate, then hes GOING to be a Pirate!! And whilst we are on the subject, *I* am going to be Mary Mother of the Tiny Shineys…’
Fish sniggered to Mallie, ‘won’t exactly be a virgin birth then will it with Mrs ‘would happily mate a table’ playing the mother of Jesus!!’ Mallie shot him a slightly black look (which is not bad for a chocolate) as she has had three times as many husbands as Shiney! She decided to change the subject by offering her services, as a woman who has something to say about EVERYTHING, as the Narrator. It meant no stupid costume, and she could pop out for a fag in the inevitable lengthy pauses when Deeds had forgotten his lines….
Fish looked round the kennel at the remaining ‘part less’ Wylanbriars. ‘Well, you know, now i’ve had a girl or two, and am so VERY good at being a man, and well… Deeds is your DAD and everything…. I’m happy enough to play Joseph if you want, Shiney…?’ Deeds looked round from his corner in horror…. ‘YOUUU what??? You’ve had a girl or TWO? WHEN? You mean in season girls came HERE, and you…well…you know’d them???!! Where the hell was *I*???? Did the rest of you know this???? Staring round the faces which suddenly looked at the ground or whistled gently under their breath….. Suddenly Brogan pipes up, ‘AND Dad, they were both YOUR DAUGHTERS! Ha! What do you think about that!….’ Till a black look (slightly more fitting from a black) from her Grandmother silenced her…
In Deeds stomped off to his kennel to reassure himself that he was indeed the stud of the house, by reading his many ‘To my darling Husband’ Christmas cards yet again. ‘Hmmmm’ he thought, slightly placated, as he looked at the photo on the front of one, ‘Thats a pretty young thing, she was Miss April , wasn’t she?’ He picked up another card and declared, ‘Now then, She IS a Fox!’ as he whistled between his teeth. Then studied the card just a little closer, noting her pointy ears and bushy tail and groaned…’Oh bloody hell, she IS a Fox….Oh Christ, I remember now… I was very VERY drunk that night…’ He shoved the card under the raised bedding making a mental note to eat it later in the day.
Meantime, back at Equity central, Brogan had Bondy against the wall by his throat. ‘You….’ she hissed ‘will be whoever I SAY you will be, got it?’ Bondy nodded rapidly…. She could be one Phycho woman at times that pup…
Jade twittered on. In his absense she had declared Deeds to be the Donkey. ‘Well thats MORE than typecast’ sniggered Brogan. ‘Errr, young lady, that is your FATHER you are talking about’ boomed Jade, ‘have some respect’ and back-pawed her. ‘Oh go perm your tail or something Grandma’ shrieked Brogan as she stormed off to dig another hole to bury Bondy in….again.
Jade shoved her head into Deeds kennel. ‘Are you going to DO something about that child, she is out of control….’ Deeds, knowing it would upset Jade imeasureably suggested an electric collar, which got his hatch slammed loudly as she retreated.
So the day ticked on. I did wonder why they kept disappearing off into little groups to prance about a bit, and why Jades mood has seemed to get blacker and blacker (no pun needed or intended) as Christmas eve has progressed.
Around late lunchtime Jade called them together for a run through. Appalled at their lack of timing, poise, dancing ability, line retention and general talent she tore off her pink glittery boob tube and stamped on her wand. It was the sixteen times Deeds attempted to remember to enter the stable and simply say ‘eeeyyyorrrr’ at the right time that had driven her over the edge.
The pups eventually got bored and started to wander off, Brogan and Tom finding it more fun to threaten Bondy with Toms cutlass made from a serious carving knife stolen from the kitchen worktop. Meantime I wrapped their packets of Smackoos, very badly, and wondered if a two hour morning walk would suffice to keep them quiet in the kennel all day.
Jadey quietly collected her coat and booked a taxi. It was just going to be the same as every year! What DID a girl have to do to not think mud was the new ‘Gucci’, a puddle the new Bollinger and last nights frozen poo was new ‘Cavier’.
‘Happy Christmas, Heathens’ She whispered and came to beg a bit of freshly carved Turkey.
Di – 24th Dec 2009