‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, the dogs were de-stuffing toy hedgehogs and mouse.
The present were hermetically sealed with a blur, in hopes of keeping them out of the fur.
The dogs soon merrily pounced on their beds, while visions of gopher holes danced in their heads.
And mom in her frumpy clothes , and me in my “suit”, were competing for covers, gave the other the boot.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed as mad as a hatter.
Away to the window I flew in the buff, while my wife yelled “Idiot, cover your stuff!”
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, confirmed what Zappa said bout where Huskies go.
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear, but a Radio Flyer with eight pups and their gear.
With a little old trainer, so good on the click, I knew in a flash that the pups would learn quick.
More rapid than eagles his charges they learned, that each click would bring them a treat they had earned;
“Sit, Dasher! Down, Dancer! Stay, Prancer and Vixen!
Come, Comet! Touch Cupid! Spin, Donner and Blitzen!
Up high for a touch! Run fast for the ball!
Now play away! play away! play away all!”
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, the pups watched the treat as it went to his eye.
When called, like coursers they looked as they flew; treats offered for behaviors done quick and done true.
And then, in a tinkling, some peed on his boot, while others started grabbing and tugging his suit.
The show I thought over but as I turned round, down the chimney St. Nick came with a bound.
The fur from my dogs now covered his suit, we’d learned vacuuming a point that was moot.
A bundle of treats he’d flung on his back, a trainer he was, not a leader of pack.
His eyes — how knowing! His pockets how smelly! Cause liver treats were favored by puppy’s cute belly!
His droll little mouth was drawn up for a whistle, as my gang dashed to him like a speeding cruise missile.
A cricket he held tight in his hand, while waiting for sits from my merry band.
My pups sat and stared at his broad face, hoping treats would fall each in their place.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf. I felt bad for eating the cookies myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a ssshhhhh, and he went straight to his work.
He clicked and he praised with nary a jerk.
He finished the session with a jolly “All done!”, and about him my gang started to canter and run.
He sprang to his flyer, to his team gave a whistle.
And to him they came like the down of a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, “Happy training to all, and to all a good-night!”
Cheers and Happy Holidays from all of us at Dog Lover’s Digest!