I thought the stocking stuffers stashed in my closet were safe. Silly me. Clover ferreted them out and devoured in record time (before detection) an entire bag of peanut butter filled Hershey’s kisses and a bag of mini Twix bars. That was Friday morning, at an undetermined time. Later, I discovered the remains of the empty bags. Not a crumb or wrapper was left.

Christmas eve, while we tried to sleep, Clover, trying hard to sidestep those extra Christmas calories, got all bulimic on our bedroom floor. Six times. I was awakened to dog retching sounds every couple of hours. It was a long night.

Since some of the golden metallic wrappers, coated with a glaze of semi-digested dog food, didn’t end up in our bedroom, but rather in the backyard, I suggested an outdoor activity, similar to an Easter egg hunt, for the children. For some reason, that idea didn’t go over.

Christmas morning brought all the joys of the holiday; we opened gifts, had a lovely breakfast, drank a pot of coffee and began the phone calls across the country to relatives and friends far away but dear to our hearts.

And then I cleaned the bedroom carpet.

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