Hey everyone. Ith me, Pugthley. Mom and I finithed writing our Chrithmath cardth. Gueth whoth job it wath to lick the envelopths? My tongue’ths been thwollen for an hour. Why do I have to have the ideal tongue for thith job?
With all of my other athignmenth, it would have been nithe for mom to hire theathonal help for me, don’t you think?
In cathe we don’t talk to you, hereth thome holiday advithe:
Don’t lick the Fethivuth Pole to thee if your tongue will thtick…..IT WILL! And then you’ll talk like I do.
Twas the day before Christmas and like others of his ilk,
Pugsley laid out some cookies with a big glass of milk.
He peered out the window at a puzzling sight,
For nighttime it sure was too sunny and bright.
He ran to the window and then to the door,
He paced so much he wore a groove in the floor.
No tree, no lights and nary a drop of tinsel,
“That’s right, we’re Jewish. I should have baked Santa a kugel!”
Pugsley pondered his memory, checking it twice,
What if he had been naughty and not very nice?
It’s been a long year; it could go either way,
There’s a chance he would not get to see Santa’s sleigh.
He thought he had been a good little boy,
Would Santa Claus really not bring him a toy?
Pugsley climbed on his mom and gave her a hug,
She told him he’s been a sweet little pug.
“So where’s Santa?” he asked; his stomach was churning.
Mom had to tell him it was still only morning.
Happy Merry Everything!
Heidi and Pugsley