Dear Santa,

Dearest, darling Santa,

It's that time of the year, old friend. We've seen many Christmases, cheered them on their way with hot chocolate, sugar cookies, figs & dates, and beautiful gifts.

Anyway, here's my Christmas List, filled with all the things I most want to find outside the door of my loft on Christmas Day.

Rest assured, I've been a good (not bad) doggie, nice, not naughty, very little crying or pouting, and so forth. You know this since you see me when I'm sleeping and when I'm awake. I'm just reiterating the obvious just in case you've been distracted.

This list enumerates my Christmas gift wishes but I'd also like to hear from you. What present do you want? If you tell me, I'll do my very best to get it for you.

Mercury's Christmas List:

New home decor, preferably red
A doggie cam
Several small squeaky balls in assorted colors
7 chewy bones and a bag of greenies, large size
A pail full of doggy treats (big)
1 designer (Diamond) collar, pink or red
A TV of my very own
An Iphone 5 with ear buds
Please wrap it all with shiny crinkly Christmas wrapping paper and inside, wrap each gift in gold or silver tissue paper

As for Papa:

A black Mercedes, the E series
5 pair of comically colored socks
A British Air ticket to London (special deal with hotel included)
Also, a Chunnel ticket to Paris
A designer leather belt

Mama's list:

A 10ct diamond, Emerald cut, set in Platinum (she asked for it last year too)
Designer shoes with studs on them
A British Air ticket to London (special deal with hotel included)
Also, a Chunnel ticket to Paris
A large size silver bowl filled with caviar

Papa and Maman have been good enough this year to warrant the fulfillment of their wishes. They have taken good care of me (save that 1 time when they "inadvertently" locked me out of the house), they feed me lots of cheese, meat and ice cream, they take me on daily walks and weekends to the intramural fields where against all rules Papa lets me off my leash.

In sum, dear Santa, please visit us on Christmas Eve. You may come down the chimney but I'll also leave the side door open. If you want a gift from me, please write and let me know what you'd prefer. I can only buy you 1 gift because any more would be too difficult to carry home.

I love you more than words can express, my dear darling best friends, Santa.

--Mercury Murphy Roushanzamir

Revisiting Kelly, scariest groomer & the best

         Oh weary day! Outside it's gray & damp. And inside? "What do you have to complain about," you say. "After all, you're in your very own loft, bought at premium price and belonging to you alone."

How I wish that were so. In fact, I'm again enduring the ministrations of that wretched woman, Kelly, owner, proprietor of Doggie Styles.

No disrespect to Kelly. I'd be happy to entertain her at Maman's et Papa's house, Cotswolds Cottage, any time. Kelly is a great dog lover; she cares deeply about her clients.

The awful truth, however, is that she scoops us up, places us on a table, tethers us, and brings out the implements of torture.

Today I share the horror (oh, the horror) with pals Mary Catherine, Charlsie and Zoe.  Together we will shiver and cower, trying our best to slink into a cell or behind the couch, hoping against hope that we shall remain unnoticed. Unfortunately, Kelly is meticulous at work; unlikely that we will hide effectively.

Maman et Papa have promised to rescue me at 2:30. Let us hope against hope that they will be prompt.

Mercury finds herself at Doggie Styles

On a fateful morning last week I found myself shipped off to that location of fright repute: Doggie Styles. Head warden, Kelly, is a charming woman, talented, fun-loving and attractive, yet one who will never exceed her role as Groomer-in-Chief-of-Doggies. You can call it Doggie Styles or you can call it a dog's dread dream, it comes to the same thing. The photo is all the exhibit needed.

Shorn. Scalped. And threaded onto a long red rope. The result of a long day's journey culminates in what you see here.

Other dogs share the long day's journey. Some of them, frightening, some frightened, some alone in groomer land for the very first time, some old, wise and patient with experience.

To all I would counsel resignation. You will find your way to Doggie Styles. You will be bathed, blown and groomed. Dogs that you don't know will share these intimate rituals. Abandon hope but remember that this too shall pass.

Sleep

Sleep. How do I love you? A dog's life is marked by long periods of sleep. Perhaps you did not know that dogs total sleep time daily is 21 hours.

Dogs sleep for several reasons. The first, the pure pleasure of sleep's luxury and the excitement of dreams, considered the film of the dog world.

Second, let's be honest. Our loving people leave us all alone for 8-9 hours per day. Sure there's mischievous behavior to indulge, books to read, television to watch, and computers to use (!), but after all one can only remain occupied for so long. So, yes boredom plays its role.

Finally is the cuteness (the awww) factor. While I appear to be napping, Maman et Papa feel compelled to provide treats and play when I "awaken." Poodles have a special advantage: our long hair hides our eye (see photo above) so in fact Maman et Papa can't tell if I'm sleeping or if I'm awake. (see entries about omniscient and darling Santa).

In the end, sleep does play a large part in the life of dogs generally and in mine specifically. Luckily I've been given several different beds, one in each room, plus a cool loft space, my own home, in the bedroom. I hope you too are provided with the proper accoutrements of deeply restorative sleep , with the time necessary to refresh and to reflect on sweet dreams.

Reflections on Christmas from dawn to dusk

Dear Followers,

About Christmas. It never travels far from the Roushanzamir household. It has been a week since the start of 2012 but as you can see the Christmas tree is still up.

Are Maman & Papa merely procrastinating? The horrible truth is that the Christmas trees stay in place all year long. Christmas trees, Christmas lights, Christmas cards, Christmas decorations, Christmas stockings, even Christmas music dominate the decor of all but my own very small loft apartment. The worst of course is that there's one major omission of the Christmas season revelry: No More Gifts.

What are Maman et Papa afraid of? Letting go of the general jollity? Fear that their lives will pale to a tepid gray without the (spurious) sparkle of what, let's face it, are tawdry symbols of a highly solumn if joyous holiday. Perhaps these accourterments symbolize their attempt to bring joy, if not to the world, at least to out household.

Or could it just be that Maman et Papa are indeed procrastinating and that days turn into weeks into years into decades and so come to define the lives of my darling, if eccentric, my very darling Maman et Papa..