The
Not-So-Deep-South, The 1999 Holiday Season
Greetings
Friends, Relatives, Co-Workers, etc. of the Miller-Younkin Clan,
‘Tis, I, Duchess, loyal, solitary canine of the
above clan, once again having been duped into writing the family’s annual Christmas
letter because everyone else says they have more important things to do like
sit around trying to think of something to do.
And let me warn you not to expect much of the ho-ho-ho type of joviality
like you encountered in my previous Christmas letters, because I’m really in
one royal foul mood. Have been since
last June. Allow me to elaborate.
It all started the summer before last. For those of you fortunate enough to have
received last year’s literary masterpiece from yours truly, you might recall
that I was abandoned for a whole month while the humans toured the West, and
then the day they get home and bail me out from solitary confinement at the Vet
what do they bring home but another cat!
That’s three. THREE! Naturally I did not take kindly to this type
of treatment, but then I got all these promises that THREE was it, end, finis,
stop, terminus. And apologetic they
might be because number three, Zeus, was by far the worse. But after 10 months things started to settle
down when BAM, POW, RIGHT IN THE KISSER, RABBIT PUNCH, BLIND SIDED—here’s
number FOUR! FOUR CATS!!!!! The newest terror is called Frisco (Derek
named him after his favorite character in Atlas
Shrugged—how’s that for esoteric!)
And compared to him, Zeus, Tiger and Angel are almost canine. So I said, “That’s it. I’m out of here. I resign. No more
guarding the house, writing Christmas letters, raking leaves, driving Devon and
Derek all over the place, taking Jim and Devon for a walk every day, doing
laundry, and teaching holistic horticulture and astral projection courses at
the local Kubakistanians United for a Free Tibet and Squash Club." But everyone was so busy oohing and aahing
over the new half-pint menace from Hades that I couldn’t get anyone’s attention
so I’m still here. I mean, like, once
the moment passes, what’s the point.
Let’s just say that living with four cats is a
tragedy of such magnitude that it makes Shakespeare’s Macbeth seem like a Beany and Cecil cartoon. (That's a test of your age if you can remember
Beany and Cecil. I sure can't.) Or, to put it another way, having the
Clintons in the White House for 8 years pales by comparison. Boy, now I’m really worked up. Let me settle
down by listening to some relaxing music before continuing. [Pregnant
pause.] What the…! Hey, who switched my Moonlight Sonata CD with Devon’s The Worst of Weird Al Yankovic?
Now I’m really upset. Excuse me
a minute. [Another pregnant paws.]
Okay, I chewed up one of Devon’s Beanie Babies (naturally, it was some
kid of cat beanie), ate all the cat food, and found my Beethoven CD. Feel better now.
So we all had a good Christmas last year except on
Christmas Eve the tree in the front yard that dropped a big limb on the car
port when Tropical Storm Fran came through a few summers ago decided to drop
another big limb on the same car port.
But no one was hurt. (If only I
had known, I could have had four furry felines out there on the car port roof
right before the limb dropped.)
In January, Derek and Jim went to Charleston with
the Scouts and spent two nights on the USS Yorktown, an old WW II aircraft
carrier. Apparently Derek blabbed to
the other scouts that, although his dad had spent four years in the Navy, this
was the first time his dad ever slept on a ship. Everyone thought that was really hilarious except Jim. Derek and Jim also went on a couple of
archaeological digs as part of a weekend class Derek was taking. They didn’t dig up any soup bones or dog
biscuits, so it couldn’t have been that great.
For Derek’s birthday, Derek, Jim and two of Derek's friends went to a
hockey game. Jim said that was the last
hockey game he goes to as there were a record number of fights (including, even
the players) and incredible foul language.
Derek and his friends said it was really neat.
Devon continues to write, dictate
poems on tape, and draw cartoons. She’s
working on a seven part trilogy called Christy
O’Hara. (I think it's some kind of
sequel to Gone With the Wind.) It’s a great story, except there aren’t
enough dogs in it. (Actually there
aren’t any so far, but Devon has promised to include plenty of dogs but no cats
in her next book.)
In March, Mom (good ole’ dedicated
Mom—like, I always say, Moms make the best mothers) got up at 4 a.m. to
register Devon for Cats’ CAP—that’s a summer day camp at a local private
school. Devon took cartooning, lunch,
Kubakistanian folk dancing, Wagnerian comic opera, elementary astrodynamics,
and introduction to cloning. After that
last course, at times like it seems like there's more than one Devon here and
about.
Derek sang with his school chorus at
the Olympics trials in downtown Richmond and came home with Scarlet Fever. Two days later the boy’s up and playing
tennis. You figure. By the way, Derek now addresses Jean as
“Moo-moo” instead of “Mom.” Must have something to do with being a
teenager.
April Fools Day. Jim is getting dressed for work but when he
opens his dresser drawer, instead of socks he finds Zeus! Devon thought it was funny. Listen up, Devon. There’s nothing funny about cats. Like how funny did Jim find it when Zeus sneaked into the main
AC/heating return while Jim was replacing the furnace filter?
One thing really neat that happened
is that Devon and Derek got a pogo stick.
I forget who holds the present pogo record, but I think it’s Derek with
over 500. Devon can do the pogo stick
with no hands and also jump rope while on it.
For her 11th birthday, Devon got a unicycle which she's learning to
ride. But if you want real talent, try eating a whole dish of dog food without
taking a breath.
Devon finished her third (and final)
year of piano lessons. Derek completed
his second year of band (trumpet), but no more. I think it had something to do with some unfortunate incident in
the trumpet section during last year’s final band concert. You normally don’t see the Fire Department
having to be called to a band concert. Derek said it wasn’t his fault.
Please realize I’m just hitting some
of the highlights here. Due to space
constraints, I've had to omit mentioning many things like the hermit crabs, the
tadpoles, the piranha in the local pool, field trip to Natural Bridge, Indian
Princess longhouses, Derek singing on the mall (D.C.), Derek’s science project
involving the unfortunate incident with the rockets, Derek’s performances in
the school plays (let’s just say the critics were moved to tears), Devon making
her own wardrobe, to not name a few.
June was a busy month. Derek attended a friend’s Bar Mitzvah party
and won the limbo contest, which was fortunately held before the police
arrived. Jim got a tie for Father’s
Day, right before Virginia Power announced that engineers no longer had to wear
ties. Cousins Sean and Shannon came down for a visit during which I taught Sean
a few more tricks like how to scratch with your hind foot and how to eat dog
biscuits. Then they all went off to
Kings Dominion to see who would be the first to throw up on the rides. Next Derek spent a week at Brady Saunders
Scout Camp (the black widow capital of the world). The Scoutmaster was apparently having some sort of mental lapse
because he left Derek in charge of the troop.
Everyone (at least those who were accounted for at the end of the week)
said it was the best camp ever.
Meanwhile Devon went off to day camp (see above), but fortunately she
was under adult supervision. Then Aunt
Donna, cousins Jennifer, Josh, Sean and baby Logan came down for more barf
contests at the local amusement parks. Derek returned to scout camp for a week of
Buckskin, officially known as leadership camp, unofficially known as Devils
Island, USA. He said the catapult they
built was really neat except for the time it went off accidentally (so he
claims), launching one of the staff into the middle of the lake.
This fall Devon started 5th
grade, Hip-Hop (modern dance), cooking, knitting a scarf, reading Harry Potter
and growing a tree in the front yard.
Derek started refereeing soccer, where he learned how to backtalk to the
players’ parents. Derek is now Senior
Patrol Leader for his scout troop (see remark above about Scoutmaster’s
occasional mental lapses). Jean started
school too—but then again, being a teacher, I guess that’s a good thing.
Devon cooked this year’s
Thanksgiving dinner. Jim said it was
the best ever (but said don’t tell Jean that), and I for one agree because you
know who finishes the leftover turkey.
Derek is planning his Eagle project (the last major hurdle to
Eagle). Frankly, I think they should
rename the rank Dog—after all, who is man’s (and boy’s) best friend? He’s also applying to all the specialty
schools like The Governor’s School, the Specialty Center for Engineering, the
Specialty Center for Science and Math, Oxford, Yale, etc. Sounds like the boy actually wants to learn
something in high school.
This
is your favorite canine correspondent, Duchess, wishing you and yours the
bestest of the bestest of holidays from all of us down here in God’s country
(and no cracks this year about all you northern kin who never come to visit,
because some of you did last year, and we’re still trying to get over it,
especially when we find another one of the socks Josh left here.)
Place paw prints and signatures here.