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In previous years, this had taken the form of putting the Christmas tree facing out the front window, and/or stringing Christmas lights around the front of the house. And we did that the year in question, as well... and more. Y’see, it began with the purchase of plywood, paint, and brushes, and Mom brought home a roll of butcher paper... and began designing these four foot tall figures on the paper. When the designs were done, Dad transferred them to the plywood, and went to work with a jigsaw... and when he was done, we painted them in bright holiday colors, and we had Christmas elves wrapping presents in the front yard! Big as I was! What a Christmas!
And Dad put a spotlight out there so you couldn’t MISS the elves. And strung lights all over the house. And the carport. And then rigged a stereo speaker on the porch, over the doorway. And for the month of December, we blasted Christmas music all over the neighborhood. I still have memories of riding in the station wagon, coming back from the grocery store, and knowing we were coming home because I could hear “Carol Of The Bells” in the distance, growing closer....
And I remember that year, my dad’s parents came over to OUR house, instead of us going to visit them, and how impressed Grandpa was that Dad had gone all out with the Christmas decorations, and how they chortled over the elves and over the Christmas music. And Grandpa decided to give Dad an early Christmas present. And oh, how they laughed!
And I, of course, was curious and wanted to see what it was. An album of Christmas music, by the.... Singing Dogs? This wasn’t real, was it?
My grandfather assured me, with much snickering and chortling, that it was. And he asked me where the stereo was, that was connected to the speaker on the front porch....? And I, being a good and helpful little boy, promptly directed him to the stereo and showed him where the switch was that switched the music from indoor to outdoor speakers. And he cranked it WAY the hell up and let the record spin.
At this point, I ask you to rightclick the link, and select OPEN IN NEW TAB, and play the video. Go ahead. I’ll wait. And you can come back to THIS tab and keep reading while the Singing Dogs regale you with “Jingle Bells”. Might even improve the story, who knows? I’ve never worked in multimedia, before.... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wdqupRP7UNk
Anyway, when I heard the song, I laughed, too. Funny! And Grandpa and I shared a laugh and then went into the kitchen to see what there was to eat, and the family celebrations began with gusto. And continued for quite some time, as snacks were eaten, eggnog was drunk, football was discussed, and fridge artwork and graded papers were proudly shown off. My new baby sister was brought out and duly gooed over...
...until my mother rather archly called from the living room for my father and grandfather to get the hell in there and get a load of THIS.
And we all trouped into the living room to see what Mom was so het up about. She had a look on her face that was somewhere between mild irritation and bemusement, and she hooked a thumb out the front window.
So Grandpa, Dad, and I all went over and looked around the Christmas tree.
There must have been thirty dogs in the front yard.
Dogs from all over the neighborhood, listening to the music with expressions ranging from “interest” to “confusion.” (I will point out that I did not actually COUNT the dogs, and that I may be misremembering, not least because in years to come, I’m sure that each time my grandfather told that story, the dog count jumped by at least five. I can remember one time when I was in college, he told that story, and I’m sure that Alfred Hitchcock had fewer birds in his famous movie than my grandfather had dogs in our front yard. But I saw it, and across the gulf of nearly half a century I do remember there being a hell of a lot of dogs... and did I mention that we didn’t have a dog? These were all OTHER people’s dogs...)
Grandpa burst out laughing. My father stood there with his mouth open. My mother saw her husband’s expression, and suppressed a snicker. Grandma covered her mouth and looked nonplussed. And I asked if we could keep them, and all hell broke loose, of course.
And I wasn’t allowed to take them treats, because they might hang around, and I rightfully pointed out that when carolers came over, we were supposed to offer THEM treats, and why not the dogs? Wasn’t this impolite or something? I mean, we DID sort of INVITE them...
And while my father tried to explain to me the difference between stray dogs and Christmas carolers, and my grandfather worked himself up to a laughing coronary between listening to the conversation and glancing out at the yardful of confused canines... my mother quietly walked over to the stereo and lifted the needle from the record. And there was silence.
And gradually, the puppy chorus in the front yard dispersed to seek other entertainments. To my great disappointment. Awwww! And my father’s great relief, although he did wind up going out to clean up the yard afterwards; a number of the dogs had left offerings to remember them by.
The plywood elves lived in the garage after that, to come out each Christmas for years to come, and the lights went back up each year, and even the porch speaker was heard to croon Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” or some choir’s “Ave Maria”....
But my father, I don’t think, ever put the Singing Dogs back on again. In fact, the one time I did, he reacted rather badly.
But Grandpa continued to tell THAT one until the day he died....
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