For Anne Micciulli

Artie snuck a peek at his watch in between sittings.  Five minutes till closing time.  Maybe this year, he’d lucked out.  Relaxing a little bit, he accepted a trembling Chihuahua from the Elf and posed with the tiny dog.  FLASH!  Artie patted the dog’s head and let the Elf give the dog back to its owner.

Only three more pet owners in line now.  Two dogs and a – Artie strained to see over his glasses – a bunny, it looked like.  He grinned and reached out to accept a West Highland terrier.  The dog had just settled onto Artie’s lap when it tensed and let out a high-pitched yelp.

No.  Dear Lord, no.  Not again.

Artie held the dog gently but firmly in his lap and smiled bravely at the camera.  Not that you could really tell through the beard.  FLASH!  The dog yelped again as it went back to its owner.  Artie sat up on his throne to see a familiar woman laboring against the weight of the hand truck.  Distracted, the Elf dumped a Rottweiler puppy onto Artie’s lap.  Artie could hardly blame him.  It’s not every day you see someone pushing a piranha through the mall in a fifteen-gallon tank.

Artie looked wearily at the camera.  The puppy was barking up a storm on his lap, anxious at the noise of the hand truck.  FLASH!  The dog froze.  Warm liquid spritzed onto Artie’s lap.  Artie took a deep, cleansing breath and gave the dog back to the Elf. 

The bunny owner was staring as the woman heaved the aquarium up to the photo area.  Water splashed out onto the tiled floor.  The woman caught her breath and started talking to the piranha.  “Little Nipsy’s gonna get his picture taken with Santa!  Oh, yes he is!  What a good little fishie!  Give Mommy a smoochie!”  She put her lips to the glass and puckered up.  Half an inch away, the piranha snapped its formidable jaws at the glass.  “Good Nipsy!  Treat time!”  The woman dropped a cookie into the tank.  The piranha breached the water, seizing the cookie in one violent clashing of teeth.  The woman sighed proudly and looked up at Artie.  “Ready to give Nipsy a smoochie, Santa?”

The woman with the bunny stepped back.  “You can go first.”

Artie smiled weakly.  “Ho, ho, ho.”

Copyright 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly