I knew something was happening the moment the grocery bags came in.
Not the quiet weekday bags. Not the boring “human food only” bags. These bags had weight. They made that special crinkle sound. The sound that means decisions were made and possibly mistakes too.
It was New Year’s Eve. I could smell it before I saw it. Cheese. Something fried. Something sweet that humans pretend is just for later but never really is. I positioned myself where I always do. Close enough to observe. Far enough to look casual.
Humans think dogs do not understand calendars. That is incorrect. I understand patterns. On New Year’s Eve, humans bring in bags and then act like they are not nervous. They talk louder. They open and close the refrigerator more than necessary. They check their phones and sigh like the year personally offended them.
The bags hit the counter. I did a slow walk by. One bag rustled in a way that suggested bread. Bread is suspicious. Bread sometimes leads to crumbs. Crumbs are hope.
I sat. Sitting is powerful. Sitting says I am patient and good and possibly deserving. My ears were on full alert. Somewhere in the bags was a container that squeaked just slightly. Plastic lid. That could be cheese or dip or something dangerous like olives. Olives are lies. They smell promising and then betray you.
I watched the humans unload the bags. They talked about prices. They always do. Prices upset them. I do not understand prices. Everything in the world should be paid for with praise and small bites.
One bag was set on the floor. That is not normal. That is an invitation. I approached carefully. Inside were bottles. Loud bottles. I do not trust loud bottles. They fall over and everyone gasps. Then someone says “it is fine” even though it clearly is not.
The clock moved closer to midnight. I could tell because the humans started saying things like “can you believe it” and “this year flew by” even though it very clearly crawled in some parts. Especially during storms. Especially during vet visits.
I kept my eye on the grocery bags. They are temporary. Humans forget them after unloading. That is when magic happens. Forgotten bags contain smells of chicken juice and paper handles that can be gently chewed if one is quick.
There were snacks on the counter now. A plate appeared. Plates are important. Plates are where crumbs are born. I took my position nearby. I pretended to sleep. I was not sleeping.
The humans toasted. They clinked glasses. I do not toast. I supervise. They talked about resolutions. I already know my resolution. Walks. More walks. Also fewer vacuum incidents.
Then the noises started outside. Pops and booms. I am not a fan. I moved closer to the humans. One of them put a hand on my back. That was good. The grocery bags were forgotten now. Completely abandoned. New Year’s Eve does that. Humans get distracted by time.
I did a quick inspection. Nothing stolen. Just smells. I catalogued them all for memory. If you cannot have something now, remembering it is the next best thing.
Midnight arrived. Humans cheered. I did not understand why the number changed but they seemed relieved. As if the bags and the year were both finally unpacked.
Eventually the snacks were put away. The bags were folded. The kitchen quieted. I curled up with my head on my paws and thought about it all.
New Year’s Eve is strange. Humans act like something resets. For dogs, nothing resets. The house smells the same. The people are the same. The love is the same. That is fine with me.
But the grocery bags. Those always mean hope. And hope is worth staying awake for.
Happy New Year.
Love,
Skye