The puppy got a pine needle in his eye. He insists on lying under the Christmas tree (and eating the needles and ornaments!) despite being told “no” and being dragged out and being forced to give up the yummy Santa or reindeer he has found. Perhaps he knows he is a Christmas puppy. Perhaps he knows how he lifted our hearts on Christmas Eve when he arrived, despite being yelled at very loudly last night for knocking our three-year-old daughter into a table and bruising her back.
So this morning, I call him to my side while I sit at the breakfast table, in the rarest most extinct type of moment in which I am sitting down in quiet solitude for something to eat before rushing to work, and I hold his soft, warm head in my hands and look into his beautiful eye – the left eye, the one the vet told us would always look like it had pink-eye but didn’t, until three days later when she told us it did and we now put in drops twice a day – and gently lift out the pine needle.
He is grateful and I get a doggy smile. Then he rushes right back to the Christmas tree to claim his spot on the tree skirt.