This Side of the Pond

This is not the most wonderful time of year after all, but only if you’re a small dog with anxiety issues. When everything from paper plates to the opening of a can of tomatoes turns you into a quivering mess, it’s no wonder that the surprises of Christmas can sometimes be too much.

The small dog in question is, of course, my beloved rescue pup. Midge, who has starred in more than one column already this year because she’s a source of constant entertainment, spent the first few months of her life living alone. The lesson she took from this experience was that it’s always best to bark at things in case they mean her harm.

She hasn’t yet managed to yell at anything dangerous, but it’s nice to imagine she’ll be the first to let us know if an axe murderer turns up on the doorstep. Still, I am saddened to see that she is not enjoying the festive period as much as the rest of us.

Midge’s Christmas Nightmare took place on Sunday, as the Pridgeons prepared to decorate for the holidays. We have inflatable snowmen and Santas, fir trees and plenty of lights, as well as one festive item I haven’t come to terms with.

This questionable decoration is a four-foot statue of Santa made to look like it was cast in a dark shade of bronze, which means it’s basically a solid shadow. Santa is posed with one finger over his lips, which I think is meant to imply you’ve caught him delivering gifts and mustn’t tell the children.

This is not, however, the impression I get. That statue is up to no good and I won’t hear any different.

I didn’t like him when he first arrived and nobody was sure where to keep him, so he kept appearing in strange places around the yard and would constantly make me jump. I still don’t like him now.

To further set the scene, the few days of sunshine last week were not sufficient to melt the ice rink outside my front door. We installed this new entrance during our recent renovations and soon came to realize it sits halfway down what was originally intended as a drainage channel.

We’ve solved the problem now with the cunning placement of gutters and a temporary bridge, but the ice rink had already formed. Until yesterday, to exit the house meant to walk all the way around the icy patch, which I would estimate was a detour of approximately eight miles.

Early afternoon on Sunday, I embarked on this circular hike so the dogs could enjoy their daily perambulation. The dogs do not consider it necessary to avoid the slippery bit because they have four legs to balance on and lots of things to sniff.

They rushed onto the ice without a care in the world. Unfortunately, Evil Santa had just been coaxed from his den of iniquity (brought out from the back of the shop) and was lying in wait for his first victim (stood by the door because he’s quite heavy and dad-in-law was off looking for a trolley to move him).

Midge caught sight of Evil Santa and her eyes bulged. Because I am fairly sure Looney Tunes was involved in designing my dog, she attempted to back away from the danger.

Except she was right in the middle of the rink, so she didn’t move anywhere at all. Instead, she scrabbled on the spot, legs whirling pointlessly, until the ice won the battle and plonked her unceremoniously on her furry behind.

The poor dog span in a slow circle as she barked furiously from her prison. She was forced to stay in that position for several minutes as the husband and I made our careful way along the detour.

But even flanked by her humans, Midge refused to get any closer to the source of her terror. Eventually, the husband picked her up to carry her past Evil Santa while I rapped my knuckles on its head to demonstrate that it is, in fact, an inanimate object.

Midge wasn’t having it. Her panic only intensified as we got closer, so we made the wise decision to carry on straight past and put her down where she couldn’t see Evil Santa any more.

She seemed happy to get back to her walk, so the husband snuck away to move the dreadful thing because otherwise we were never going to convince her back into the house. Unfortunately, the dog caught sight of his efforts and decided to walk backwards so she could continue to bark at it.

Three times we walked our daily path, and three times the dog stopped to give Evil Santa a piece of her mind. That her humans were helpless with laughter did not improve her opinion of him.

Still, at least the thing wasn’t right outside my door any more. When we embarked on our second walk of the day, Midge was able to avoid more bruises on her backside.

As we reached Evil Santa’s new location, we wondered if she’d recovered enough to accept he is not an actual goblin and cannot get up to any mischief. By this point, Evil Santa had turned into a temporary hanging rack for several strings of lights.

Apparently, this disguised him pretty well. Midge sniffed her way past him once, twice, three times without noticing he was there.

I blame natural curiosity for my next move, which was to gently rap my knuckles on Evil Santa. Her eyes bugged, her hackles raised and she scrabbled backwards straight into the side of a truck.

As I write this column, I am mere hours from arriving home to be greeted by two dogs who want to go walkies. I wasn’t given the final resting place of Evil Santa, but I’m sure the pups will point him out.

He’ll have a finger over his lips as if telling me he’s delivering presents and I mustn’t tell the children, but now I know I was right along. It’s probably best that we bark at him, in case he means us harm.