The Scent of the Season

When she was six and I was twelve, my sister got a dog. One of our uncles gave it to her, I think because the dog could outsmart him. The dog was a toy fox terrier named Pepper. He was unbelievably cute – he looked like a tiny white and black deer – and amazingly smart. He was feisty; he had a hilarious personality and a thirst for adventure.

He also really, really liked to annoy me.

In his defense, I think the only reason he liked to annoy me is that I didn’t like him. I was just not a dog-person. I thought he was adorable and smart; I loved him in the abstract. I just didn’t want him on my lap or in my room, and on car trips, I didn’t want him snuggled up next to me.

I think Pepper originally wanted to be with me because he had hung out with my cousin before he came to live with us, and I was her general size and shape. However, once he figured out I didn’t want him on me or around me, he clearly thought, “Hmmm. I can have some fun with that.”

Pepper was mainly an outside dog, but he was allowed to come inside during cold weather. Anytime he was in the house, he would make a beeline for my bedroom. He did not enter the bedroom, though. He was too smart for that. He would sit just outside my bedroom door, so close that it would bump his nose if I closed the door, but still in the hallway so I couldn’t say, “Pepper, get out of my room.” He would sit there and watch me. That’s all, just sit and watch. It annoyed the daylights out of me for some reason unknown to me today, and I would eventually break under the pressure and yell, “Colene, call your dog!!!!” Colene would call, “Pepper!” and he would bound off to play with her. (There was one notable occasion, still famous in our family, when Colene was actually hiding under my bed so she could jump out and scare me. Pepper was in his usual pose in my doorway when I arrived. I immediately yelled, “Colene, call your dog!!!” and from under my bed came a tiny, tentative voice: “Pepper?”)

Anyway, since it is usually cold(er) in Austin in December, Pepper was often in the house during the Christmas season. He was in his glory. He strutted around the house. He examined the Christmas tree. He examined the gifts under the Christmas tree.

And, every year, he peed on at least one of my Christmas presents.

Only on my presents. Never on anyone else’s presents.

Always, always on my presents.

Our house had hardwood floors and Lucy#1 and Leroy had to re-polish the floor in the living room every new year because the peed-upon wrapping paper would lose its dye and stain the floor. Every year. No one ever caught him in the midst of his villainy, but every year when I opened my presents on Christmas morning, at least one of them would have telltale signs of an encounter with Pepper.

The Christmas that still makes us howl with laughter (although, believe me, my original howls were not laughter) was the year Grandma gave me a box of scented candles for Christmas. Yes, that’s right; there were scented candles in a box under the tree for me. And yes, that’s also right; Pepper peed on them. I don’t remember now what scents they were originally, but by the time I opened the package . . . well, let’s just say the original scent was not apparent.

Pepper and I battled it out until I left for college. I missed him when I left, and while I still didn’t really want him on my lap when I returned for weekends and holidays, I was a little softer-hearted about having him in my room. (He still peed on my Christmas gifts, though.) Eventually I grew up, and Pepper and I maintained a reasonable friendship. When I’d go over to visit the parents, I’d go out and pet Pepper and chit-chat with him. Pepper was part of our family for 16 years, and we all took it very hard when he died.

I guess Pepper’s “mark” is as much a part of our holiday tradition as the tree and the fudge, and he is still making our Christmas memories merry.