Finding Hidden Sunshine.

More rain. Cotton candy clouds spilling down the mountainsides for days kept bringing a pervasive, wet chill into the world. Finnegan was decidedly displeased. Walking in the rain was not to his liking. Neither, he discovered, was walking during a snowfall. Snow, he informed his Human Woman, was still rain, no matter if Mother Nature tried to dress it up in soft, white, fluffy camouflage. Snow melted in his eyes and on his head leaving wet spots, ergo, it was rain.
But a Corgi has gotta pee when a Corgi has gotta pee, so rain and snow cannot matter when the "business" end of things gets urgent. What did matter was the location of the bush nearest the front door. THAT mattered.
"When will the sun come out to play?" he asked plaintively, staring through the slats of the patio railing after their wet morning jaunt.
"Soon, little Olympian, soon. It went on vacation for the holidays, but it should be home sometime this week. The weatherman said so."
"Where does the sun go for vacation?" his limpid coffee eyes gazed up at her.
"Tahiti," she said decisively.
"Ta-hee-tee. Maybe we should go there with the sun next time it takes a vacation." Finnegan sounded wistful.
"That's a very good idea. Here's another one: let's get inside out of this chill and I'll make you some bacon. A warm little treat, sort of like sunshine for your tummy."
He scampered through the open door, chortling with happiness. "Sunshine for my tummy? You're so silly, Human Woman! Baconbaconbacon...."
The refrain continued until much later when, after some yummy bacon, he nestled down in his Scooby Doo bed with his soft fleece blanket and prepared for his 11am nap. He looked up at her quickly before dipping his nose down into the blanket.
"Thank you for the sunshine," his eyes glowed with happiness.
She smiled. The soggy outside world faded to nothing. Her boy, warm and sturdy in his little nest, his tummy full of bacon, had brought the sun inside with his contentment.

All I want for Christmas.

Dearest Santyclaws,

All I want for Christmas is bacon. I do not want bacon-flavored chew toys. I do not want bacon-scented snacks. I do not want bacon-scented sweaters. I do not want a bacon-scented plush bed. I do not want bacon look-a-like tofu dog biscuits.
I just want real bacon. A year's supply. Thank you.
And maybe rethink my offer to ride herd on those 8 tiny reindeer of yours during the rest of the year. I'm out of a job and they've got a bit of attitude. Especially the guy with the red nose. And, frankly, they're all getting kind of chubby. Let me chase them around the pasture for an hour! All that exercise will increase their flying times!
Could you ask the elves to get more creative with pet presents this year? The neighbor's cat has asked if catnip could be put in something more interesting than a felt mouse. Maybe a felt possum or rope chicken. Something that she could really get into batting around the kitchen floor. (Personally, I think she has anger issues.)
But let's get back to the bacon. That's very, very important, Santyclaws. Please don't forget the bacon. And bring some for my buddy Sammy, too. He hasn't been naughty at all this year. He hasn't even contemperlated (sp?) being naughty. I was only naughty that one time I tried to eat the UPS man but I didn't get him so that doesn't actually count, does it? (Mommy does not think it counts.)
I will believe in your forever and ever if you bring the bacon!

Your most adorablest and favoritest Corgi in the entire world,

Finnegan James.