Hi. It’s me. Skye.
Professional Shetland Sheepdog.
Part time squirrel surveillance officer.
Full time Christmas aftermath reporter.
So, Christmas happened. I know this because for several days the house smelled like ham, cookies, wrapping paper, batteries, and whatever humans call “stress.” Also, because my people kept saying things like “Don’t let Skye eat that ribbon,” which obviously means “Skye, this ribbon is very important.”
Now it’s after Christmas. Which is confusing. Because all the good stuff is gone, but the evidence is still everywhere.
Let’s start with the tree. The tree is still here, but it looks tired. Like it’s been working retail. Or like me after guarding the house from imaginary delivery trucks. The ornaments are mostly gone, except the ones humans forgot about. Those are the best ones. The low hanging shiny ones that whisper, “Boop me with your nose.”
Under the tree there are no presents anymore, which is suspicious. I know there were presents. I personally supervised them. I sniffed them. I sat near them. I stared at them for long periods just in case they opened themselves. Now they’re gone, replaced by boxes that say things like “assembly required.” I do not trust those boxes. Nothing good comes from boxes that require tools.
The humans seem slower now. Before Christmas they were zooming around like squirrels with calendars. Now they just sit. They say words like “tired,” “January,” and “we ate too much.” I don’t understand that last one. There is no such thing as too much. There is only “not currently eating.”
Food-wise, Christmas was magical. There were crumbs. So many crumbs. Entire ecosystems of crumbs. I found a rogue piece of cheese three days after Christmas. Three. Days. That’s what I call a holiday miracle.
But now everything is back to “normal.” Normal kibble. Normal mealtimes. Normal rules like “Skye, that’s not for dogs.” Which is unfair, because I am a dog, and therefore everything is potentially for dogs until proven otherwise.
The best part of after Christmas is the quiet. No doorbells. No strange humans saying, “She’s so fluffy!” No wrapping paper monsters attacking the floor. Just naps. Long, serious naps. Strategic naps. Naps where I pretend I’m asleep but I’m actually listening for snacks.
The worst part is when the humans put decorations away. They climb ladders. They move furniture. They do not consult me. I bark helpful advice anyway. This is called teamwork.
I did get gifts, by the way. Toys. Treats from SkyeBiscuit.com. A new thing that squeaks louder than necessary. I immediately removed the squeaker because I am an engineer.
So now Christmas is over. The tree is tired. The humans are tired. I am not tired. I am a Sheltie. I am alert. I am watching. I am waiting for the moment someone drops food, forgets a rule, or says the magic word: “Walk?”
After Christmas is fine.
But next year, I’m hiding the ribbon.