A Very Merry Guinea Dog Read Online Free

“And Fido’s loose?”
    He gives me a knowing look. I get it: the noise, Fido …
    I rush down the stairs, calling, “Fido! Here, girl! Here, Fido!”
    It’s dark downstairs. Even the tree lights are off. Usually, my parents leave them on when they go to bed on Christmas Eve.
    I flick on the overhead switch. The tree is lying on the couch. The plate of cookies I left out on the coffee table for Santa is under it. The star is dangling from the tip of the tree by its green electrical cord. All the presents are unwrapped. The wrapping paper has been torn to shreds and scattered around the room. I know whose work this is.
    “Fido!” I call. “Fido, where are you? Fido, come!”
    I see movement in the drapes by the sliding glass doors. I pull the cord and the drapes open, exposing her. She has the package of mini-steaks. She got through the plastic.
    “Did Fido do all this?” Mom asks from behind me.
    I turn toward her. Dad is standing beside her, looking grim.
    “She was looking for her present,” I say. “I hid it in the tree.”
    “She was able to knock down—” my momstarts to say, but she’s interrupted by my dad’s very sudden laughter. I mean, one second he’s giving me the Stony Stare and the next he’s completely cracking up. It’s a little scary. Mom starts laughing, too. I guess it is kind of funny, so I go ahead and laugh as well.
    When we stop laughing, Mom plops down on the couch beside the fallen tree and composes herself.
    “I guess we may as well start,” she says.
    “Really?” I say. “Because it’s pretty early.”
    “We’re up,” Dad says. “Let’s do this thing.”
    He sits down in his favorite chair, and I start passing out presents. They not only no longer have wrapping paper, they also no longer have tags, so we’re not always sure who they’re from—some of the gifts are from relatives who mailed them to us—but we can usually figure out who they’re for.
    I give Mom and Dad the presents I made them.
    “It’s a lovely pot!” Mom says, holding it up. “Thank you, Rufus!”
    “And a handsome portrait,” Dad says.“I’ll hang it in my study. Thank you, son.”
    “You’re welcome,” I say.
    None of the gift boxes contain a pair of hockey skates.
    “Is that all of them?” Dad asks.
    “That’s all,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. All I got were some socks, a sweater, a board game I already have, and a couple of books. I guess my mom didn’t hear me after all. Or she did and decided I didn’t need or deserve skates. I think I was pretty good this year.
    “You sure?” Mom asks.
    “Yes, I’m sure,” I say. She doesn’t have to rub it in.
    She stands up. “Then I’m going to put on the coffee.”
    Dad gets up, too. “I’ll start breakfast. Waffles okay?”
    I shrug. “Whatever.”
    I crawl over to Fido, who’s gnawing away at her treats. At least
she’s
happy with her gift. Murphy will be, too. I guess I’ll need to rewrap his puck.
    They say it’s better to give than receive, but I really wish I’d received a pair of hockey skates.
    I scratch Fido’s head. “I can’t believe you knocked down the Christmas tree,” I say, like she understands what I’m talking about.
    Mom and Dad walk back into the room. They’re each holding a wrapped present. Mom’s is too shallow to hold a pair of hockey skates. Dad’s is way too large.
    “Two more,” Mom says, smiling.
    “We hid them in the kitchen,” Dad adds. “So Fido didn’t get them.”
    “Are they dog treats?” I joke.
    I’m smiling. The gifts aren’t skates, but they’re probably something special or they wouldn’t have tricked me into thinking there weren’t any more. Anyway, they have to be better than socks.
    I unwrap the little one first. Inside is a plain brown shipping box with something heavy inside. I open it. It holds one hockey skate. Black with silver swipes. I touch the cool, carbon steel blade. It’s what I wanted, but Iwanted two of them. Did I forget to