Jack

Jack was old, smelly, nearly blind and arthritic. He lay on the floor in the den, bathed in the lights of the Christmas tree.

Jack was 15.  White. And a dog.

He had had a glorious career as a watchdog; no cat burglar had broken in on his watch. It was a point of pride with Jack.  But if the truth was told, an elephant could now sneak past him. His senses were pretty much down from five to one.

So Jack lay there, curled up in his dog bed by the last of the fire’s burning embers. The heat felt good on his old, cold body.  This would probably be his last Christmas, but he didn’t want to think about that. He just enjoyed the dream he was having of running joyfully through the Irish countryside.

Just then, a sensation woke him up. He felt something vibrate. What that something was, he did not know.  He got up as fast as an arthritic dog possibly could and started to growl a toothless growl.

GRRRRRRR Bark Bark Bark Bark GRRRRRRRRRRRR.

“Whoa there little fella.  I mean you no harm.”  The man carefully approached the scrawny dog.

Jack stood his ground. Barking, growling and farting, he was doing everything in his power to run the prowler off.

A light came on in the hall.  The man rapidly disappeared.

The next morning the family came down in the hall and opened their presents.  There by the tree was a specially wrapped bone.  Poppa opened up the card and read what it said inside:

“To Jack, the greatest guard dog in the world. Love Santa.”

And on that Christmas morning, Jack chewed on his bone proud that his guard dog record remained unblemished.