Christmas tales

editorial notebook

First was Booboo, a foxy Keeshond-Shepherd mix, who loved to chew open the holiday cards as they slid through the mail slot in our front door. Then Baby, Booboo's only child, who would wrestle in a tangle of flashing tree lights ready to be strung. Later, checking for treats in her stocking, was Jessie, a gentle Doberman-Lab and a permanent temporary house guest - a gift from my brother after a move. On Christmas holidays, our three-dog pack loved to run through the snowy woods near our home, sniffing for deer and squirrels and barking greetings to canine friends encountered on the trail.

Booboo was the leader, dashing off and hiding behind a tree or bush in a game of hide-and-seek. Baby and Jessie would follow. The trio loved to go for rides in the Jeep, which became a handy tool for rounding them up after a long walk. I'd open the door and the three would bound in, Booboo to the driver's seat, Baby at shotgun and Jessie sprawled out on the back seat. It didn't matter that their wheels were going nowhere. The pack would be happy for an hour or more on their imaginary rides. When we did hit the road, traveling for the holidays, the girls took turns at the rear windows, rolled down a few inches to provide exotic air for sniffing.

If the destination was our place in Maine, the pack would sense it 20 miles away and "Are we there yet?" anticipation would build in the back. Maine was fun because there was Lilly Pond, a tiny frozen glacial lake to slide on, fresh smells and a rich variety of debris along ocean beaches, and snow drifts to run through on the long sloping meadow behind our house.

The late December days are short on that northern island. The silent nights are bright with stars. And the vitality of the dogs was a gift best treasured far from the distractions of the city.

The dogs are gone now. Even after months and years it's hard to believe. I still listen for them to stir when turning the key in our back door or wake up, imagining I hear a muffled bark. Booboo went first, then Baby two years ago and last Christmas an elderly Jessie was already seriously ill when we visited our daughter in New York. She still roused herself for walks around the Brooklyn block and nibbled at treats from her Christmas stocking.

We're just too busy now, my wife and I agree, when we talk about finding new companions. But, truth be told, we're not yet ready to give up the ghosts of our beloved pack scampering past the Christmas tree, loving life.