Bruno's Christmas miracle

Our traditional family Christmas celebration isn’t what it used to be. It used to be a get-together on Christmas eve, for a jumbo Christmas dinner and a gift exchange. Between the dinner and the gifts, somebody, once in awhile it was me, would read the Christmas story out of the bible, and we’d sing a few Christmas carols. That was the norm for about sixty years. Alas, everybody gets older and everything falls apart. The Patriarch is in a retirement home. The Matriarch no longer wants to spend three months baking Lindzen Tortes for five kids and nine grandchildren. While the sibs all want to keep a tradition alive, we’re mostly pensioners now, and things aren’t what they used to be. The elder grand-kids are well into their forties. There’s great grand-kids closing in on their ‘20s… everybody’s getting older! Who saw that coming! So the last few years we’ve been getting together for the big X-mas shindig a week or two before Christmas. This year it was on the 21st. By the time Christmas day rolled around, Christmas was over. The Farm Manager and I spent the day binge-watching Maine Cabin Masters, which I must say is at least as much fun as watching one of those Jimmy Stewart “Christmas classics.” Between a quart of eggnog and a micky of rum, I was feeling pretty joy-to-the-worldish by eight-o’clock. Chase and Ashley were doing their magic ( rebuilding a waterfront cabin from the studs out and the foundation up with a budget of $30 thou, which would cost 300 thou here), my trusty mastiff on the couch beside me. That’s when the FM made a move to visit the loo. That’s when Big-face Bruno leapt off the couch to keep his vow to NEVER let her go to the bathroom alone. That’s when he landed on the hardwood floor and his back legs splayed out 180 degrees… and he couldn’t get up. Talk about buzz-kill. We tried moving him. I wrapped a scarf around his hind end, hoping he’d be mobile if at least I could move his back end for him. No luck. It’s Christmas day. There’s no vet open anywhere. Maybe in the morning we could find a vet clinic open for emergencies. I fell into a fitful high-anxiety sleep knowing we’d have to face some ugly realities in the morning. The FM stayed downstairs with Bruno. I woke up around six this morning, dreading what this day would bring. A disabled mastiff isn’t something you can fluff over. Your not gonna tuck him under your arm and take him with you. I attended to my morning ablutions with a heavy heart. Twenty minutes later I find the FM under the covers and Bruno on his blanket at the foot of our bed. I knew immediately that good stuff was going on, because no way could she have carried him up the stairs! Looks like Bruno pulled a muscle with that slip on the hardwood. He stayed off his gimpy hind leg for a few hours, and is 100% a day later. That’s our Christmas miracle.