Sometimes the complexities of sharing your kids and grandkids with other tribes means that the Trad Christmas schedule won't work. This was one of those years, so we got everyone together a bit early. The grands are either old enough to know that Santa does not get 'er done in one night, and/or have grown up in a world where Amazon can supply anything at anytime. So it was for most of the world still a regular kinda day.
We watched a grandkid play hockey.
We got together for presents. The theme this year was "Hand Made or Hand Me Down". This of course is us being environmentally conscious, NOT us trying to get the kids junk out of the attic and given back to them. Among the hand made stuff was this clever game called "Smoorsh". Not sure of the spelling, this was just invented last week. It involved taking squiggly aspen trees cleared off our hunting land, cutting them up into various highly irregular sizes and angles, then stacking them as drawn randomly from a bag. The youngest person in attendance - over on the left - had a particularly aggressive style. Grab, Slam Down, Admire.
Not only a remarkably tall and serpentine tower, but he was actively eating Christmas cookies with the other hand.
I got some nice hand made stuff from the grands too. Knit garments for Bill the Taxidermy Squirrel, and a wall mount for the silly little antlers from the spike buck I got this year. Hey, it was a nice sized deer despite the.....teeny antlers.
She's brazen about Occupying human spaces.
And this is one ferocious rabbit chaser. So after a bit, when things had settled down, I let the dogs out. I did take the precaution of peering out into the yard first, making sure the gates were closed. Oh, how well we remember the Great Dog Escape of 2022
(Only my wife and I remember the Great Dog Downfall of 1993 where our then elderly mutt walked right into the Christmas tree and knocked it over).
But I did not see the rabbit.
Out the dogs went, in hot pursuit. The great huntress dog pursued it back and forth before the bunny zipped under the thankfully locked gate. Hank on the other hand yipped and ran to the door, clearly shaken. I figured, well he's a big creampuff, guess that bunny told him off. Only then did a guest notice that The Hankster had a big laceration on his side. Guess he ran into a projecting bit of metal on the fence, although a comedic Monty Python rabbit is an outside possibility.
So its off to the after hours vet for sedation, sutures and a very drunk and confused dog returning after the grands were in bed. Not ideal, but would have been worse on actual Christmas....
















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