Humans think Christmas is about trees and lights and boxes they’re not supposed to open.
They are… mistaken.
Christmas is for dogs.
It starts early. The house smells different—pine, butter, something called “roast,” and a mysterious cinnamon situation that makes my nose vibrate. I supervise everything from my rug (very important job). Humans call this “being underfoot.” I call it quality control.
Then there’s the tree. A miracle appears in the living room overnight. Shiny things. Dangly things. Things that definitely look like toys but are somehow “not for dogs.” I sit politely and stare. This is called restraint. It should be rewarded.
Christmas is also when humans forget the rules.
Normally:
“No people food, Skye.”
“Not from the table.”
“That’s not for dogs.”
At Christmas:
“Oh, just a little piece.”
“She’s being so good.”
“It’s Christmas!”
Exactly.
I receive more compliments than usual.
More visitors.
More hands.
More “who’s a good girl?” (Answer: me. Always me.)
I also notice humans get softer at Christmas. They sit more. They laugh more. Sometimes they cry a little too, but then they hug me and bury their face in my neck fluff, which is comforting and smells like loyalty.
Presents appear with my name on them.
I cannot read, but I know.
Some gifts squeak. Some crunch. Some are treats that say “limited ingredient” which sounds very official and important. I inspect each one carefully. Again—quality control.
The best part?
Everyone is home.
Christmas means my pack is together. No rushing. No long absences. Just couches, blankets, movies I don’t understand, and the deep spiritual satisfaction of sleeping while humans argue about which movie to watch.
So yes, humans, enjoy your lights and songs and cookies.
But remember this:
Christmas isn’t really about gifts or trees or dinner.
It’s about being warm.
Being together.
And making sure the dog gets at least one extra treat.
That’s the true meaning of Christmas.
Love,
Skye 🎄🐶