The Night Before Christmas in My House

`Twas the night before Christmas, when all through our digs
not a creature was stirring not even our pig.

Lincoln, the guinea pig.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The four rowdy children were nestled in bed
While visions of  presents danced around in their head.
And I in my p.j.s and Mark in a cap
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I said, “Honey, get up, and go see what’s the matter.”
Away to the window he stumbled and fell.
He opened the windows and said, “What the heck?”
The moon on the lawn showed the new-fallen snow
finally covering the leaves he’d forgotten to blow,
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment he had a treadmill from Dick’s.
More rapid than eagles his reindeer they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name,
Now You and You Two and You Three and Your Four,
On, You Five through Eight, aren’t there any more?”
Up to the house-top the reindeer all flew
With the sleigh full of gifts and St. Nicholas, too.
With a thump and a bang, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each heavy hoof.
As I stepped away from the window and was turning around
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed in all fur from his head to his foot,
And he dragged into my house lots of ashes and soot.
He brought us some gifts that he’d flung on his back
but he looked like a thief when he opened his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His ears and his eyebrows were all really hairy.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth;
he smelled like he’d been smoking some really strong weed.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf;
I sicked my doggies on him, in spite of myself.

My mean dawgs ready to take on the Claus.

He was gummed up by Dipper while Dusty showed all his teeth;
Mark said, “Just drop all the goods and make a hasty retreat.”
Santa spoke not a word, and went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, and when he turned with a jerk,
we heard from above, “Hey Santa what say
You get us a big bunch of timothy hay?”
I looked at Mark, he at me, and then we both shrugged
As Santa made tracks across our big rug.
He stopped to see Little Buddha who gave such a bite
It left our brave Santa in a moment of fright.

Little Buddha taking a bite out of Christmas.

And then to the door Santa asked for some hay,
from our guinea pig, Lincoln, who had something to say:
“Get me grapes, and some celery or dandelion greens,
And don’t try to leave until the floors are all clean.
Oh, and grab me a hand full of fresh baby carrots
or I’ll call in the kitty . . .

Our killer kitty, Purrkins.

. . . or one of the ferrets.

Smiggles not giggling.

Santa looked at the floor and saw what he’d tracked in
As he trudged to the fridge and pulled greens from the bin.
Then he got out the vacuum and cleaned up the floor,
And returned to find Lincoln pacing by the door.
Lincoln said, “Thank you, now please take your hay
And get, giddy-up, and make quickly away.”
Laying his finger aside his big nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney Nick rose.
He sprang to his reindeer who all stuffed their faces
Before taking to the air like they were off to the races.
I heard Santa mumble as he drove out of sight,
“Next year we’re skipping this house on Bois Ile.”

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