When it comes to Christmas Tree Day, it is hard to find anyone who does not get excited.
Super heroes included.
Two of our caped crusaders took the afternoon off from their duties in order to assist with the tree cutting ceremony.
Tuxedo Boy being the youngest of the household and this being just his third Christmas, cartwheeled and climbed trees all the way there.
This year we took a small tree, the very first one I pointed to.
"You don't want to see the others?" I said.
"Nope," said my sweet Sven.
And he cut it down.
Christmas Tree night was full of cough drops and Kleenex instead of Tom and Jerrys and a pot of chili.
Cat Lady called from her assisted living apartment downstairs.
"Hey! Where is everybody?"
"That old bat is not coming up here," said Tuxedo Boy with a couple of quick swishes of his tail.
"Where is your Christmas spirit, Mr.?"
Bark Man remained quiet.
I know.
One night every year Bark Man does not say a word, even during his prime barking hours.
Some call it a Christmas miracle.
I however know that it is not a miracle.
You see my Sweet Sven and I do not always get along while putting a tree in a stand and then adding lights.
Bark Man who is older than dirt is sensitive to confrontations that may occur between his parents and he knows there is always potential for such a matter on Christmas Tree Day, especially when they are both under the weather and crabby as hell.
He understands that if his mom and dad go into battle, he and all his needs may go ignored.
This is terrifying to a guy with more needs than time.
So even though things were going pretty smoothly and all the lights were hanging on the tree, he was not convinced that it was safe to bark.
His super sensitive super hero premonition was correct as always.
A shrill cry came out of nowhere.
And then I realized it had shot out of my own mouth.
Sven jumped up from the couch.
I handed him the the chord.
"How?!" I said.
Sven was not holding onto the plug end.
"Here," he says and hands me a lighter. "Calm down."
I take a sip of wine and I begin to pace.
Bark Man watches in silence as Sven and his slow moving lack of luster fingers attempt to rearrange the whole shitting situation of lights on strings.
I pace.
And I watch Jimmy Stewart get pie eyed at Martini's Bar now called Nick's.
"There," says Sven.
I turn around slowly.
"It's fine," I say, facing a shipwreck of a tree.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Just got to squint my eyes a little."
The attitude adjustment had worked.
Bark Man breathes a sigh of relief.
I throw a biscuit outside before he realizes that he can start barking again in full force.
Tuxedo Boy shoots out the door in front of him.
I hang the beware of Cat Lady sign in the window and retrieve the little old lady from her fancy assisted living apartment downstairs.
She glances at the Christmas tree with lights haphazardly tossed about it, scowls, and waddles over to her bowl of milk.
Apparently not all super heroes are enamored with the holidays.
I suppose after you have seen hundreds of lit up trees over many a lifetimes they eventually lack a little bit of luster.
Especially after you give up the nip.
For more stories in this crime fighting series, click above on Titanic Trio.