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Dear Santa

Santa1

I’m an extremely unhappy dog. Mom said, she promised, she assured me that this year Santa would give SERIOUS consideration to my Christmas wish list, because I was so good about my diet. The ONLY conditions were that I could ask for just one prezzie for myself only, and that I must ask for a prezzie for each member of the family as well.

The moment she read my letter (is she even supposed to read my private mail?) she told me that I had some serious explaining to do before she would even consider e-mailing my letter; but every time I tried to justify an item on my list, she first laughed her head off and then accused Dad of putting all these weird thoughts into my head, *hangdog look*. Poor Dad.

You see Santa, this is what I thought:

Dad is always yelling in the car that Mom has taken a wrong turn, or is driving in the wrong direction in a one way street, or does not end up at the right address. He says she’s the only person he knows who manages to lose her way in her own backyard. Then she starts yelling at him to shut up until such time that the traffic department has issued him with a proper backseat driver’s license. So I thought, if Mom can have a GPS and Dad the licence for Christmas, we can drive to the shops in peace and quiet.

Dad also says that Sissy talks so much that she is wearing out her tongue, so I thought a new tongue would come in handy; or maybe she can just have a spare for those days that she tries to talk while sticking her tongue out at Dad, all at the same time.

Our Cat is as small as a mouse and as thin as a rake (yeah right, no diet for her), but when she meows, which is quite often, it sounds like a lion growling. Dad says the decibel level of that meow exceeds the dangerous point at which any normal person starts suffering from hearing loss. So I thought a built in mute button, like the one on our television remote, would solve that problem.

Mom is always going off like a siren about the brandy and the glazed cherries that she has been saving for our Christmas trifle, which disappear like clockwork. She has tried locking it in the kitchen cupboard, in the gun safe and even in the tool-shed, but disappear it will. Dad says it must be our resident ghost who gets very thirsty and hungry around Christmas time. Mom does not dare to openly accuse Dad of theft, but she has that knowing look on her face. So, if you could provide the ghost with his own Christmas stocks, Dad would be off the hook.

For myself I asked only for a non-diet Christmas meal. We always have a variety of cold cuts, trifle and loads of ice cream, because December in South Africa is so hot. Sometimes we have a barbeque outside under the big old tree in the backyard. Whatever, we always have loads of meat and puddings; I don’t see how anyone with a heart can refuse treating a little dog on such a happy day, *puppy dawg eyes*.

O yes, and Santa, I didn’t mention this in my letter, but you know that I never forget the shelter pets and that they also wish for Christmas treats. I hope that everybody will remember to make a gift to an animal shelter this year.

XOXO Genis

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