The part of Christmas I like best is when I give Bao his Christmas present. It's always the same sort of Christmas present, year after year -- a soft, fluffy toy with something that makes noise inside of it. Sometimes it sings, sometimes it talks, sometimes it squeaks. But there's always a noise.

As soon as I bring the shopping bag into the room, he knows. He's up on his hind legs, prancing around the room, little forepaws waving frantically. Gimme, gimme, gimme! So I do. Bao snatches it with a little sob of joy and carries it triumphantly up onto the bed where he spends the next twenty minutes or so making it sing, or talk, or squeak. Pure, unadulterated joy, and it's a joy to watch him.

And then when he's finally worn himself out, he curls up with what is now a rather soggy toy and falls blissfully asleep.

Dogs -- like small children -- have the happy capacity of living totally in the moment. I guess that's why they say Christmas is really for children. And -- I would add -- for dogs.