Dear Aunt Debby

Dear Aunt Debby:

We thought you might like seeing how we enjoyed your Christmas presents.


Margot: “I’m showing you nothing. I am NOT a Circus Clown Dog. Stop calling me that.”


Pixie: “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” (To human ears, this sounds like, Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Repeat. Forever.)


Guinness: “No, thanks. Did I see treats? I thought I saw treats. I’m pretty sure there are treats.”


Sugar: “I’ll play with the cute Santa–”


Pixie: “MINE. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Who don’t you see? Penny. Couldn’t be bothered. Until these were opened. Then she snatched one and ran so quickly there was no opportunity to get a photo.

THANKS, AUNT DEBBY.

Love,
Margot, Guinness, Pixie, Penny, and Sugar

P.S. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

ETA: Later, here’s the first fatality–Santa Toy–next to the seizure-inducing gnome.

About Becky

Writer, artist, seamstress to dolls, dog wrangler, wife, and mostly human. In no particular order.
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4 Responses to Dear Aunt Debby

  1. Mark says:

    Collectively: “Just give us the damn food!”

    Those toys would last approximately 0.2 seconds in our household…

    • Becky says:

      They have another round of toys they received from Lisa. We’re letting this wave of destruction pass before we let them at her gifts. Little hooligans.

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