The Christmas Beagle

Beagles and alcohol don't mix

We used to have a beagle named Barney.  He was not a candidate for best dog ever.  He had so many unique personality flaws it’s hard to summarize.  He hated most men, except for me.  He loved women and children but did not like being petted.  He was very nervous and excitable. He never was good with the whole housebreaking thing.  Because of these and many other quirks, he was normally an outdoor dog.  But one Christmas eve, the temperature dropped into the single digits and my dad agreed that he could come in for the night.

Regular readers are aware of the rituals my family observed on this night.  But I haven’t described many of the individuals who attended.  The focus of this story is Mrs. Nisula.  Mr. and Mrs. Nisula were an elderly couple who’d retired to the area.  Mr. Nisula had worked with my dad many years previously.  They were pleasant people, but they were a little reserved.  Mrs. Nisula had a presence that radiated superiority to normal humans.  She had a love of neat Bourbon whiskey.  

As the evening wound down, we all found ourselves gathered around the Christmas tree, next to the fireplace.  A warm fire was crackling, and we began handing out the many gifts Santa and others had left under the Christmas tree.  This was mainly a time for the children to enjoy.  Mrs. Nisula took a glass of Bourbon to a seat in the recliner next to the fireplace and watched with polite interest. 

By contrast, Barney was circling the room with intense interest; sniffing at the packages and investigating every time a child shrieked with delight when they opened a present.  He became increasingly excited as more and more presents were opened.  He eyed Mrs. Nisula, in her position off to the side, with great affection.  Finally, one shriek of delight inspired him to leap into Mrs. Nisula’s lap.  He was not a small beagle.  She was caught completely off guard, and, in her surprise, threw her drink into the fireplace. 

Neat bourbon whiskey is highly incendiary.   A ball of flame erupted from the fireplace.  Mrs. Nisula’s dress, and Barney’s ear, both of which been partially wetted with the drink, burst into flame.  Two different stories need to be told. 

Barney’s story:

The Christmas beagle began running around the room in pain and terror; his ear igniting numerous small fires in the loose wrapping paper lying around.  My dad jumped onto him and put out the fire on the dog’s ear with his bare hands.  Several others beat the small paper fires into submission.  The dog’s ear was severely burned, but otherwise he was unharmed. 

Mts. Nisula’s story:

Mrs. Nisula’s dress was apparently made of a highly flammable synthetic fabric. It burst into flame. I happened to be standing in front of the fireplace when the drink was thrown.  Fortunately, I was relatively unscathed by the eruption.  Observing her plight, and hearing her scream, I grabbed the nearest thing I could see, which happened to be a throw pillow on the couch and began beating her with it.  It took quite a while to extinguish her dress. Eventually, I succeeded in putting out the dress fire, and remarkably, she’d barely been harmed, but her dress was ruined, and no longer provided much coverage.  I offered her the pillow for modesty, and, holding it in her lap, she backed into a nearby bedroom, where she was given a robe.

Barney’s Epilogue:

Barney’s ear healed, but never again grew hair, and looked like a sausage patty for the remainder of his life. He got a lifetime ban from Christmas. 

Mrs. Nisula’s Epilogue:

Mrs. Nisula never got over her chagrin from that evening.  During all subsequent visits, she wore a modest, cotton dress, and avoided dogs and the fireplace.