A Zeke & Tall Guy Christmas
Looking for a place to happen
Making stops along the way
- Gord Downie
The company I was working for went bankrupt. I’d been at the place for years, and as far as day jobs go it was the best I’d ever had. The word came down on a Friday afternoon in mid-November. We were all given two weeks’ notice, a few weeks’ severance and any remaining holiday pay. It was a shock. Some of the people had spent most of their careers at the company.
The owners didn’t want to fold the business, obviously. They had made some risky business decisions that, in hindsight, had inevitably led to the downfall. The decisions had been bred from greed and ambition but were not malicious. The owners were decent people, but they were focused on growing the company. If their plan had worked, everyone in the company would have been better off. But it didn't and we weren't.
I was visibly upset when I arrived at home.
“TALL GUY! YOU’RE HOME! Come here right now so I can… what's wrong?”
“I don’t think you’d understand. It’s a problem specific to humans.”
“What is pacific?”
“Specific”
“Sepific”
“Specific”
“Spepitick…that is a hard word for me. It has too many bumps. I wish I was smarter”
“You’re plenty smart, but can we try this later? I want to lie down for a while.”
“Let’s play ball. That always makes us happy.”
“Not today”
“Tall Guy, when you are sad, I am sad. I don’t wanna be sad. We should play and be happy."
“We should play and be happy” is a philosophy that more of us should aspire to. When it came to living his best life, Zeke was crushing it. I was wrong to make him share my misery.
“Zeke …”
“Whut?”
“… go get your ball."
"YES! It's under the couch. Can you get it for me?"
Zeke was playing his favourite prank on me again.
"Sure. Here's your tennis ball.”
“No. The other one.”
“Rubber ball?”
“No. The other one.”
“Squeaky ball with no squeaker?”
“No. The other one.”
“How many balls can you lose under the couch?”
“How many do I have?”
“Six. No, five. You bounced one off your nose and over the fence last week. It’s lost in the neighbour's yard.”
“So then I can lose five balls under the couch, I guess. HA HA HA HA HA!”
I was starting to come around. Neither one of us ever tired of the “five I guess” prank. We enjoyed it as much as we did the first time, the second time, the thousandth time.
When holiday season arrived, things were looking pretty bleak. Credit cards were bruised and bloody. We had cut back on everything we could, but bad things loomed on the horizon.
The next day, I was back to being morose. I didn’t wake up until noon. I didn’t shower or get dressed. I lay in bed watching A Christmas Story and eating handfuls of Froot Loops out of the box. At about 2 PM, it registered with Zeke that I hadn’t gone to work that day.
“Are you sick, Tall Guy?”
“Sort of.”
“You don’t smell sick.”
“I’m feelings sick. I liked my job, but the company went bankrupt and so now I can’t work there anymore.”
“What is a bang crup?”
“It’s when a company doesn’t have enough money to keep going.”
“I could give them lots of kisses. You told me kisses are better than money.”
“You can’t lick a company, unfortunately.”
“Then I would like to bite them for you. They made you sad.”
"No, you wouldn’t."
"You’re right ... I don’t like biting. Except for cheeseburgers. They’re good to bite."
“That’s why I love you.”
“Is that the only reason? Because I could definitely bite more cheeseburgers.”
“It is far from being the only reason, and I meant the ‘not biting’ part. I should have said it was one of the reasons I love you.”
“I love you too. You do not like to bite. Except for cheeseburgers HA HA HA HA HA! What's for dinner?”
"How about cheesebu..."
"CHEESEBURGERS!"
I smiled. I knew that's what he had been getting at.
After cheeseburgers, Jane and I told Eliza and David to wash, dry, and put away the dishes. This had become habit after Jane’s ma died. Habit made sure things got done even though we all felt like burying our faces in a pillow and screaming for three hours whenever we thought of grandma, which was often. The kids complained for a couple of weeks until they had to admit that washing the dishes was satisfying. It also gave them time to be siblings. Water fights were common, mostly happy but occasionally angry. We let them sort it out for themselves unless one of them started to cry.
Jane and I half-watched TV while the kids were in the kitchen. We were having the dreaded “money talk." We figured that although it would be yoga pants tight, we’d be OK for Christmas. Come January, we would need to have a different discussion.
We went to bed about half an hour after the kids. Jane still had to get up and go to work. Seeing as I had nowhere to be in the morning, I stayed awake reading for a few hours. Zeke liked to sleep with us. He’d usually start out at the foot of the bed on top of the comforter. By morning he’d be under the comforter spooning with one of us. Spotty preferred to sleep alone on the couch, which was fine by us because she had twitchytalky dreams and farted like a human.
By midnight, I was ready for a snack. Zeke was snoring but snapped awake when I closed my book and dropped my legs over the side of the bed.
“Snacks?” he asked.
“How do you know I wasn’t going to the bathroom?"
“Because you’re going for snacks.” Dogs have a well developed sense for the snack vibe.
“Do you want anything?” I asked.
“Do we have pickles?”
“Yes.”
“Peanut butter?”
“Always.”
“Sandwiches?”
“I can make sandwiches. Is ham and cheese okay?”
“Millions of mayo please.”
“You know what’s happening here, Zeke?”
“BED PICNIC!" we shouted together.
“Will you guys shut up?! I have to be up in five hours," Jane grumbled.
We grinned at each other. Zeke did a bouncy little dance and whispered “bed picnic” without opening his mouth, like a ventriloquist.
He led me to the kitchen. Aside from the things we had already chosen from the menu, Zeke kept adding things to the picnic as he caught a whiff of them when I opened the cupboards or the fridge.
“Cauliflower!” he said.
“Got it.”
“Leftover meatloaf.”
“YES! Good call.”
“Chocolate chip cookies!”
“No. Chocolate isn’t good for dogs.”
“That’s not true. Small Tall Guy shares his chocolate chip cookies with me all the time when you’re not … here … oops. I wasn't supposed to tell you."
I side-eyed him and made a mental note to remind David that chocolate is no good for dogs. “Anything else?” I asked.
“Cinnamon toast.”
We went back to the bedroom with two loaded plates. Zeke was drooling. I wiped his mouth with one of Jane's t-shirts and we climbed back into bed. When Zeke chews cauliflower, it’s loud. Loud enough to wake Jane.
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH
“Will you guys SHUT. UP! Why can’t you do this in the living room?”
“Because then it wouldn’t be a bed picnic," explained Zeke.
Jane said “GAH!” and rolled over so her back was to us. She sandwiched her head between two pillows and mumbled “next time, a hamster."
“Hey! Leave some cinnamon toast for me!" I said.
A few days later, Christmas Eve arrived. Zeke and Spotty were as excited about Santa as David and Eliza were. We watched the NORAD Santa tracker together like we did every year.
Our family tradition allowed for everyone to open one gift of their choice on Christmas Eve. David got a video game, Eliza got a picture book about horses, Jane got a book of Kurt Vonnegut short stories, and I got a Tragically Hip hoodie. Jane and I always hid the best gifts in our bedroom closet. That way, there was no risk of anyone opening the A-list gifts and having Christmas morning be anticlimactic
We all took turns reading paragraphs from “The Night Before Christmas." When I think about it now, I'm a little embarrassed at how Norman Rockwell the whole thing was. But Christmas is for kids and they liked it, so Jane and I happily swallowed our cynicism.
We kept doing it even after they knew about Santa ... or thought they knew. Everybody stops believing in Santa at some point. If they're lucky, they come around later in life and understand that Santa is real. He doesn't wear a red suit and come down the chimney, but he gives us gifts if we are alert enough to notice.
The kids prepared Santa's snacks and his glass of milk. They included carrots for the reindeer. I looked at Zeke and Spotty and said, “Don't eat Santa’s snacks.” As usual, they said “PROMISE!”. As usual, they didn't. Even dogs know you don't mess with Santa's cookies and milk if you want presents.
The kids were up at 5:30 AM. The rule was that they made tea for Jane and I before waking us up. Jane didn’t mind. She got up at 5:30 every day, even on weekends. I pretended to still be asleep until Eliza, urged on by David, gave me a wet willie. We had a little wrestling match on the bed, which ended when I returned the wet willies to howls of "ewwwwww!"
The gift-opening chaos was all over by about 6:15. Zeke and I went back to bed. Everyone else stayed up. The kids played with their new stuff while Jane set about prepping the turkey for dinner. Zeke woke me up a couple of hours later.
“Tall Guy,” he said, "I have a Chrismiss present for you."
"Aww Zeke. You didn't have to do that."
"It's my old squeaky ball. Santa gave me a new one but we had lots of fun with this one and I lub you so I want you to have it now. We can still play with it sometimes if you want." If that isn't nice, I don't know what is.
After breakfast, I got dressed and went to the backyard to play ball with Zeke. He wanted to try out the new one Santa had given him. Spotty got a tug-of-war rope and was pulling David, laughing his head off, up and down the hall like a boat pulls a water skier. Eliza was in her room studying her horse book.
My mum and dad showed up mid-afternoon with more gifts. After round two of present opening, it was time for dinner. Jane had prepared an amazing feast, as usual. We have a small family, and we all get along. There’s never any drama or arguments, just laughs and improvised tall tales by my dad. I leaned back in my chair and watched everyone laughing and eating. God, I loved them.
Zeke came up behind me and nudged my elbow with his nose. He looked at my plate, and then at me, and then at my plate, and then at me. I gave him a chunk of turkey. I'm pretty sure it didn't even touch the sides of his throat as it went down the hatch. Zeke was a great doggy, but his table manners were atrocious.
"Did you even taste that?" I asked. If he could have shrugged, he would have. Dogs don't care about chewing and tasting. That's a human trait. Dogs care about getting the food inside of them as efficiently as possible. Often, that means swallowing things whole.
I’d spent the last few weeks worrying about money, but here I was surrounded by people and dogs that I loved, and who loved me back. I was grateful for the reminder that the things I want the most can’t be purchased. We were rich in every way except for money. We’d had rough times before and we were still standing as a family. Life always finds a way of working out. We were resilient.
As I rejoined the conversations, I knew we were going to be okay. John Lennon was right; all you need is love.
Merry Christmas.
Zeke & Tall Guy is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0
