A Corgi Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
It was quiet as a mouse,
Not a Corgi was stirring,
A rare treat at our house.
Treat bags were hung on the X-pens with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The Corgis stretched out, hogging the bed,
Feet pointing up, acting unfed.
Mamma's in her flannels, I'm in my briefs,
Trying to get comfy in a bed full of thieves.

The female Corgi, she is by far the worst,
Lying diagonal, the whole bed must be hers.

How can a 20 lb Corgi,
With not 1 oz. of flab,
Take up more bed space,
Than an 80 lb lab?

We had just settled in to catch a quick winter snooze,
Knowing in hours all hell will break loose.
It's the night we dread most,
The arrival of Nick,
The Corgis go crazy,
Eat treats 'til they're sick.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
Up fly the Corgis, I take a paw to the bladder.
Away to the window they fly in a flash,
They tear off the mini-blinds, they land in the trash.

The barking, the growling, peeing on the floor,
And that's just the wife and I, the Corgis do more.

Nick comes down the chimney,
Large bag in tow,
I believe if he was union,
He'd have quit years ago.

A foot hits the mantle,
The Corgis attack,
Rip the fur off his pants legs,
Tear a hole in his sack.

He fills all the treat bags,
Up to the brim,
Heads back to the chimney,
With teeth in his limbs.

"Happy Christmas to all,
And to all a good night".
He heads up the chimney,
The dogs release their bite.

Every year is the same,
Nothing is new,
Why Nick still shows up here,
I haven't a clue.

There must be a nice home,
With poodles or pugs,
That would cherish his visits,
With tail wags and hugs.

Instead he comes here,
To get treated like a chew,
He must love Corgis,
as much as I do.

Merry Christmas.
Mark Wittig
Poem inspired by the Corgis Toby and Ebby.