Christmas Morning

I woke up to the elephant paws of Tucker on the staircase before he nudged open the heavy bedroom door with his nose and hopped on my brother's bed. Not only does he weigh more than a small dog, but he sports a collar with bells so we can hear him if he escapes to the busy Carmel streets. He's an indoor cat and an outdoor enthusiast. I like to call him Houdini.

T- had to work this morning, and since we share a bedroom in our new digs, this meant we were both up earlier than we would have liked. I hoped Santa had already come and gone before my feet hit the cold wooden floor.

Christmas Eve we had a wonderful meal at the Quail Lodge, followed by scotch-sipping in my parents' bedroom. T- was inspired to treat the family to a nice bottle of scotch after he read the Sunday Times article on indulgences people refused to give up, no matter the dire economic straits.

Following dinner, I was uploading pictures in the study when I heard my mom shrieking from her bedroom like she'd discovered a secret hiding place in our new house filled with diamonds.

"'Meet Me in St. Louis' is on!!! GET UP HERE!!!!! 'Meet Me in St. Louis' is on!! HURRY UP!"

We don't have DVR in our house so her sense of urgency was somewhat warranted. I didn't want to miss one of my favorite Christmas carols. As we watched Judy Garland in her stunning red dress sing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," we drank smoky Lagavulin and hung out until we were good tired and drunk.

This morning the cheer had worn off and my dad informed me we were a (wo)man down. Mom was white as a ghost and suffering from an acute scotch-over. Ironic because she was telling us last night, as T- poured us generous portions (his unrealized goal was to finish the entire bottle), that her father always told her she should acquire a taste for scotch because she'd never have another hangover if she drank it. Curious...

T- was running late for work and couldn't walk Odin so one of us had to step in as pinch-walker. Normally Mom's up for the task, but today's extenuating, Alka Seltzer-heavy circumstances put her out of commission. I was excited to walk Odie and hoped he'd be happy to hang out with an old friend.

I grabbed a poopy bag, his leash, some beef jerky-looking shreds out of a treat bag and I was ready for the walk.

I opened the fence that separates the real world from our backyard and glanced to the small shelf of mulch and stones to the left of the pathway. I noticed a small, plump bird, with his chest puffed out and his head snuggled underneath his right wing. Tucker does the same thing when he's had it and wants nothing but sleep and quiet.

I stared harder to make sure I wasn't imagining my feathery friend unphased by my approach. Maybe he too was suffering from a hangover, of suet perhaps? My mom has bird feeders hanging on every square inch of our property so that would be reasonable.

I knelt down a bit closer, giving the bird another chance to flutter away to the treetops. He unnuzzled his head as if he'd just woken up from hibernation. If he'd been a person he would have been pursing his lips and stretching his arms above his head. I glanced at Odin to make sure he wasn't within gobbling distance. He tugged on his leash, oblivious, and stuck his nose in the air to figure out which way the wind blew and which spot would be his first target.

I thought the little birdie was injured, but was relieved when he took a few painless steps towards me. I didn't know what to do besides sit there and stare at him in wonder. I was waiting for him to really wake up to realize he wasn't staring face to face with his sibling or parent but he was at eye level with a human.

I reached my pointer finger out. Like a dog or a cat, he eased his head forward. I didn't have anything to offer him but a warm tummy rub so I lightly touched his belly with the back of my pointer finger. It reminded me of Mary Poppins' similar encounter with a curious robin.

Odin was getting antsy and I quickly left the bird to his day. When we returned I was sad to see my new friend had disappeared.

I didn't understand the significance of my morning interaction until I told my mom what happened.

"How many people can say they've touched or petted a bird?!"

I will never know what was wrong with him, or why he wasn't afraid of me. Maybe he'd seen the trailer for "Despereaux." Whatever the reason, I am happy I turned my head in his direction. Instead of the Christmas mouse, I will always have my Christmas bird. Let's hope his fearlessness was a sign of new and exciting adventures to come.

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas!