Happy's Christmas Columns 2001-2008

A very Happy Christmas
Published December 22, 2001
King County Journal


Hello, everybody! Happy Luzzi here. I am what you would call a Beagle. I have lived with the Luzzis for five years. My boy is named Joe, and he wasn’t very big when I met him. He’s really tall now, but he lies down on the floor so I can lick his face and he laughs with his deep voice. The other people I live with are The Brother (they call him John), The Dad, and The Mom.
My boy is something called a Sohpomore. I think that means “sleepy.” When school starts, he puts on a costume called a football uniform, and spends lots of time away from the house. He comes home really tired, but he smells good. Then he spends time at something called Young Life. It has something to do with The God. His friends are really nice, especially the girls who come over to play with me. He is starting to drive, and when The Mom gets in the car with him, I hear her ask for her heart pills.
I think there was some big deal in The Brother’s life this year. He put on a shiny black dress over his clothes, and wore a silly-looking flat hat. They called it “graduation.” Then he went on a trip to a place called Malaysia with his band and some kids from church. When he came home he took all of his stuff and moved. It’s really quiet now. Sometimes he comes over to talk, and The Mom is always giving him stuff to eat. Just last week, there was something called a “CD release party” for the band. Whatever.
The Dad gets up every morning, and drives to a place where he catches a bus with The Brother. I heard him say he likes this because The Brother falls asleep on his shoulder. He said that is the best part of his day. The Dad has lots of friends, and I hear him talking on the phone to them, and talking to The God about them. When it was really hot out, The Mom and Dad took a trip, and The Dad came home with big metal sticks under his arms to help him walk. Part of his leg was really fat. The Mom told him, “No More Dancing for You, Buster.” But sometimes I see them dancing together in the Kitchen when the kids aren’t around. They said they have been dancing together for 25 years.
Something funny happened to The Mom this year. I heard people calling her a “columnist” or something. Whatever it is, I heard her say that it is a dream come true. She says it never hurts to ask, and that’s how she became a “columnist.” So I take her advice and ask her to let me out, and then let me in, then let me out, then in. It never hurts to bark.
The Mom must have wings now. She flies to see her Dad in Montana who has been sick a lot, but he keeps getting better. She calls him the Energizer Bunny.
A few months ago, The Mom got up early and turned on the television. Everybody in the house stood around with their hands over their mouths like they wanted to scream but couldn’t. The Mom cried. Everybody has been kind of sad ever since, and they watch the talking people on TV a lot. I’m glad I don’t understand, because I don’t want to be as sad as they are.
Well, I think if The God can take care of all of us, he can take care of you, too. It doesn’t hurt to ask! But call me if you need help with cats or squirrels.

Love,
Happy Luzzi
Beagle with a Pink Nose


Year in review, according to Happy the dog
Published 12.22.02
King County Journal

I don’t know why the Mom makes me write the Christmas letter every year. Maybe I’m just a better writer than she is. I’m missing some valuable nap time, but I guess it’s the least I can do for the old girl. After all, she does feed me, let me out, let me in, pick up my back yard deposits, and yell at me just when I get comfortable on a bed. I am her life.
If I remember correctly, the year began without my family. First the Mom packed some clothes really fast, and flew to that place called “Butte.” Then the phone kept ringing, and the Dad, the Brother, and my Boy also flew to Butte. They seemed really sad. I heard my Boy tell his friends that his Grampa died. After they came home, the Mom cried sometimes. But pretty soon, everything was back to normal, and she didn’t leave for Butte again until it was really hot outside.
The Dad and Mom did take a few trips. They went to Lake Tahoe, Hawaii, Montana, and Dallas. When they came home from Hawaii they were all lovey-dovey, and their skin was darker. I don’t know what this Hawaii place is all about, but it makes them really happy.
Meanwhile, my Boy keeps getting bigger. I heard them say he was a middle linebacker. I have no idea what this means, but I think it has something to do with this big coat they bought him. It’s red, white, and blue, and has writing all over it. They need to get more writing on it because my Boy got something like “Kingco 4A Football All Conference Honorable Mention.” That’s a lot of writing.
The Brother didn’t live here much this year. He moved to a place called San Diego, but came home because he missed us. He said it was sunny all the time there, and he wanted to come back to the rain. Now he lives upstairs in the loft, but he’s not home very much. There’s a girl that comes over to see me, and I think she really likes the Brother, too.
The whole family got dressed up in April, and went to a Space Needle because the Mom turned fifty. The Dad was teasing her about being older than he was. She told him, “just you wait, Buster.” When it was hot outside, she called his Aunt Josie, Uncle Ed, and his cousin Linda, and when they got here they cooked, and cooked, and said something about the Dad being old like good wine. Then a whole bunch of people came in and were really quiet. When the Dad came home, they all yelled at him until he cried. Then they ate, and played music really loud. I think it had something to do with him turning fifty, or maybe he’s fermented. I don’t think I want to turn fifty if people yell “surprise” at you.
Every time the boys leave the house I hear the Mom talking to the God about them, then she tells herself, “Fear not.” I hope the cats and squirrels don’t say that to themselves, because I want them to be very afraid of me. Thanks for reading my letter. I’ll see you next year, and by then, I’ll be fifty!
Love,
Happy Luzzi, the beagle with a pink nose


Loving a Pet a Happy Thing
Published May 3, 2003
King County Journal

One of the many things that drew me to my husband was the fact that he didn’t want to have a dog, a cat, or any pet for that matter. We had many blissfully content years living with the knowledge of this pact. We used to roll our eyes at people who actually loved their pets, and marveled at how pet owners could spend real money on food, grooming and vet bills.
Then we had kids. Our older son got a mouse, which then needed another mouse for company, and soon had more company than we could handle as they reproduced at lightning speed. I used this as an object lesson: small rodents are at the bottom of the food chain, and as such, they reproduce very quickly.
When our younger son Joe saw that his brother had lobbied successfully for a pet, he began to ask for a dog. This kid didn’t ask for much, so we began to discuss the possibility of a Christmas gift. He and his dad did some research (not enough as far as I’m concerned), and ended up being suckered by a pretty face: a pink-nosed Beagle pup that looked just like “The Pokey Little Puppy” I had loved in the Golden Book as a child.
His name is Happy. He spent the first year depositing anything he could find under the dining room table, including used tissues and underwear from the laundry. He even made a few deposits himself. We had to puppy proof the back yard until he got over the digging stage. He still likes to hunt in the back yard, howling at would-be prey. I’m sure our neighbors love him.
Unfortunately, you don’t know your future when you make a big commitment like getting a pet. Lenny was diagnosed with bladder cancer three months later. As far as cancer goes, his was fairly nonthreatening, and easily treated with surgery. But now I had to take care of the patient and the puppy.
When Lenny came home from the hospital, some brought him a Chocolate Orange as a get-well gift. Lenny left it on the table next to where he was camped during his recovery, and rejoined the rest of us at our Big Table for the first time in two weeks. He returned to his chair after dinner, hoping to enjoy the chocolate, but it was gone. Six ounces of milk chocolate were in the Beagle.
The emergency veterinarian told me to pour hydrogen peroxide down the throat of the dog until he threw up, and to keep doing it until it was clear of chocolate.
I held the dog between my ankles and began the purging. Lenny was hobbling around, but he managed to man the hose to rinse the chocolate away.
The boys were trying to soothe Happy by petting him. It was quite the scene. Six years later, the husband is still cancer free, and Happy has settled down to be a very sweet, but typically noisy Beagle. I think we now understand how people get attached to their pets. I always offer to give Happy away to anyone who admires him, but when someone took me up on it, I had to make an admission. I love him, but don’t tell him I said so.


Radical Beagleism
December 18, 2004
King County Journal

Hello, everyone. Happy Luzzi here. The mom I live with didn’t let me write the Christmas Letter last year, because she said I was becoming too radical, and might not truly represent the family. This year, I begged, rolled over, and shook hands in a subserviant-pet-dog way to convince her that I could be trusted to give you the year in review. She’s worried because I am the spokesdog of the Community of Beagles Worldwide, and the chairstud of the King County Chapter of Beagle Pride. We are a really, really non-profit group committed to the preservation of our Beagle heritage, and to the promotion of Beagleism across the world. We feel that we have been given a bad rap as mere howling diggers, when all we are doing is following our genetic predisposition to hunting dangerous suburban vermin, especially squirrels. We also take responsibility in neighborhoods to “encourage” cats to go home where they belong.
Before I tell you about how Beagles fared in this year’s election, I suppose I should catch you up on the news of the Luzzi Family.
Well, it’s become quiet in the Bothell house. The dad says he’s been working at the same place almost 25 years. Every night when he comes home, the mom says, “How’s my conquering hero?” Big deal. All he does is get up every single day except Saturday and God’s day, go to work, and bring her money. She’s the one who does the real work. She lets me out about seven or eight times a day, and picks up everything I leave behind. I hear her mumbling that she wonders how big a snake has to be to eat a Beagle. That’s just silly. There are no snakes in Bothell.
The brother they call John works a lot, but I think he lives upstairs. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he brings home a rodent every once in a while, and takes it upstairs, then it disappears. He says he’s feeding a boa named “Sugar.” Whatever. He and his friends make lots of loud music in the garage, and if the dad is practicing the accordion at the same time, I like to sing along. Once the mom was so moved by the sound we made, I saw her crying. John has a nice girlfriend named Anita. I only see her on Thursday when she goes to something at church with the brother. She says she’s a Husky. I’m confused, because she’s no dog.
The only weird thing that happened this year is that my boy Joe moved out. I didn’t see him for months, but now he comes over for the mom’s cooking. I taught him how to look sad when he wants to beg, and he’s really good at it. He’s working someplace with letters, AT&T, I think. When he and the brother leave the house, she makes them bend down so she can kiss their foreheads, and, as usual, I hear her talking to the God about them. She even yelled a little this summer, but now she’s back to just talking.
Now for news of the election. The most famous Beagle of all, Snoopy Schulz, ran for President. After a great tree-roots effort, and lots of doorbarking, I’m sorry to say he didn’t win. Oh, well, there’s always Westminster.
Well, I have to go. I’m in charge of the Beagle Bugle, the CBW newsletter, and we’re going to try to print it on bark. Merry Christmas, and a very “Happy” New Year from the Luzzis.


Adventures of an escape artist
Published January 22, 2005
Patty Luzzi

He left silently after dinner. He simply walked away, and had not returned by the time I went to bed. I didn’t sleep very well, and when I did drift off, he was in my dreams. It wasn’t like him. What if he didn’t come back? We had a love/hate relationship over the years. I loved him and hated him at the same time. He always barked orders at me, and he never respected my possessions or me. To him I was just the cook and maid. But I’ve always been a sucker for helplessness and a handsome face, and he did have this way of looking at me. All the same, I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for life without him.
It happened on a Monday night, the coldest night of the winter so far. We have a new routine on Mondays: the husband and I build a fire, and watch our latest favorite show, “24.” But before we can relax, we gather the trash from all of the wastebaskets around the house, and roll the green toters to the foot of the driveway to be emptied first thing in the morning. The yard waste can had room, so we picked up whatever stray limbs and winter debris we could find. Since the gate to the back yard had to swing wide for the toters, I made sure that Happy the Beagle was safely barricaded inside the house, with no possible way to get out.
Yet as we hurried back to the house just in time for our show, Happy calmly strutted past us, his head held high. He knew we couldn’t catch him, and if he had a thumb, it would have been in the vicinity of his nose. What a clever, sneaky dog, I thought. He he had managed to pry open two doors to manage his escape.
“He’ll be back,” I told Lenny. “He knows where his food is.” We settled in to watch the show. When it was over, we realized we had been so engrossed in it that we forgot Happy was gone. It wasn’t like him. He doesn’t like the cold. Then I remembered he wasn’t wearing his tags. He had been scratching so much with an allergy that I had taken off the tinkling metal tags. Uh-oh. We bundled up in heavy coats and gloves, and drove around Finn Hill with our windows open. Every so often we just stopped to listen for the howl of a wild Beagle. Nothing.
Lenny and I waited up as long as we could. Finally we went to bed, but neither of us slept very well. And then, just before 7 a.m., we heard barking at the front door. It was Happy. He was warm to the touch, so I surmised that he had spent the night indoors somewhere. He acted like nothing ever happened: we should just forget about it and move on.
He’s still guarding the secret of his little escapade. We noticed a small tear in one of his long, silky ears, and a mark between his eyes. But he seemed, well, Happy. I took off his collar, and wrote our phone number on it.
I feel that I should put out a blanket apology to all of our neighbors. I’m really sorry if he caused any trouble, and we appreciate whoever gave him shelter. Having him gone for the night helped me see that our love/hate relationship is mostly love, but don’t tell anybody I said so.


Christmas after the big storm
Published December 2006
King County Journal

Merry Christmas, everyone! Happy Luzzi here.
The Mom wasn’t going to let me write to you, but she’s kind of busy this week. And six days in the dark and cold has made the ol’ girl a little cranky.
I joined this family ten years ago this Christmas when my boy was only eleven. That means I’ve reached the age of retirement: that wonderful time when I can sleep all day with a clear conscience. Most of the time it’s pretty boring around here, except for occasional bursts of music or company. On regular days, the Mom usually watches something called “The Food Network” and another one called “The Learning Channel.” I tell ya, I’ve sure learned a lot. According to the TV there is a book where I can find answers to any question. It’s called “Dex.” Then I heard people complaining about something called Restless Leg Syndrome. Big deal. If I didn’t have Restless Leg Syndrome, I wouldn’t get any exercise at all! Then there’s a nice voice that comes on the television that asks if you have a “going problem.” Good grief. You should try being a boy Beagle!
The Mom is pretty opinionated about the commercials on television. Her favorite was the one for a “Go Phone” where a mother gives her daughter a cute cell phone and they have what sounds like a huge fight, only they are saying nice things to each other. I don’t get it, but the Mom laughs every time. And commercials with a talking gecko, a hairy cave men, or ducks always quack her up.
Last month we had so much rain that I was looking for a girl Beagle to join me on a big boat. We had a few big windstorms last week, then on Thursday night, we had thunder and lightning, and tons of rain. After that the wind started to blow again. It was like someone celebrating their millionth birthday, blowing until every light was out. When the wind stopped, it got really, really quiet, and I could see lots of stars. The Mom and Dad were pretty well prepared for camping at home. We have a big heater that keeps us warm. She goes out to the patio and cooks, just like summer, but without the bugs. But she said that after all the crazy weather we’ve had, if she sees any locusts, she’s leaving.
Because of the storm, she has a lot more work to do. When it gets dark, she lights candles and lamps, cooks soup, and washes the dishes with the Dad. They sure kiss more when the television isn’t on. She and the dad smell really good too- like themselves, but more of it. I caught the Mom crying a few tears on day six when she heard that we might not get something called “electricity” for several more days. But she said something to herself about not being a big baby, and dried her tears. The Mom says we’re going to have lots of company this weekend whether there is electricity or not. This is the time when they have a big party for the son of the God. Everybody buys presents, but they give them to each other instead of him.
Well, this windstorm business has provided the most excitement of the whole year. I hope you all are staying warm and healthy, and that the God gives you all the power you need for the New Year.
Love,
Happy and the Luzzis


Christmas 2007
Published in Seattle PI Reader Blog/The Big Table
With reader comments
Happy Luzzi here. I guess this is the seventh time I've written the Christmas letter for my family. I was a mere pup when I began, but now I'm an old dog. The mom says that now I have an AARF card. I don't know what this means, but apparently there are "benefits." If I get caught and sent to the pound, she can call this legal service, staffed by poodles I figure, to get me out. Poodles may be fussy, but you want someone with a good haircut representing you in those situations.
You know what they say about old dogs, but it's just not true. I've learned a few new tricks this year, and refined a few old ones. It's all a matter of training. You have to be totally consistent with your family, or they won't learn how to respond to your requests.
Case in point: They used to put this thing on me called a "bark collar." Now, you and I know that the point of this device is to reward a dog for barking. I kind of got a little kick out of getting a few volts when I woofed it up in the backyard. I figured out that if you can get over the first few shocks, the device shuts off entirely. I suppose this is so that a trusty canine can protect the family from burglars and vermin and such. But I just made a game of it. I found that I could make lots of friends. When the family went on vacation, after I got the device to shut off, several neighbors came to visit me: Bob, Shari, Jake, Ken, Martha…and people I didn't even know were shouting my name all night!
My family went to California a bunch when it was hot out, and again for what they call "Turkey Day." Why would anyone name a day after a stupid bird? They also went to Montana and a place called "Yellowstone." I've heard of Yellowsnow, but I don't understand Yellowstone. The mom went twice to Maui. Her brother asked her to housesit, and she wanted to be alone to get some writing done. I volunteered to go with her, but she left me alone with the dad and the brother. They weren't home very much, though. It was so boring. The best part of the summer was when my boy, who lives in a colorful place called "Redmond," came by to take me to the park a few times. I love him! But he doesn't bring any girls home, and come to think of it, neither does the brother. I miss all their old girlfriends who used to talk to me in baby voices and say I was sooo cute!
For six years, the mom and I wrote the Family Life column in the King County Journal, but in the first month of the year, they shut 'er down. Don't tell anybody, but she was really sad about losing her job and her favorite newspaper. I think she's still in shock. The weather hasn't helped. It's rained for the last year, almost without stopping, I think. I met a girl Beagle the other day when I escaped, and she asked me to go with her on a big boat called an Ark. I told her that I wasn't much of a stud anymore, but she was soooo cute. Anyway, the mom was asked to start "blogging" for the Seattle PI. I wonder if it's anything like jogging. One can only hope.
The dad is the hero of our house. He gets up every morning when it's still dark, goes to a place called "Bellevue," and brings home money. "Same place for 27 years!" he says. To get more money, and for fun too, he hangs this noisy, shiny, black and white box on his shoulders, squeezes it, and out comes music! He takes it in his car a lot, and when he comes home, he's exhausted, but really happy.
The mom and dad have a friend named Jesus. I don't ever see him, but I guess he's here all the time, 'cause I hear them talking to him. The mom makes all kinds of yummy treats for his birthday, but he never eats. I'm just glad she's a messy cook, so I can sample everything! I hope Jesus is at your house, too, so you can talk to him. I know that he has helped us get through a stormy year.
Love,Happy Luzzi
4 comments:
Peg said...
Hey Happy Dog,You're my favorite columnist, but don't tell the Mom. She's pretty good, too, but there's nothing like a dog when you need a good grin. Barky Christmas to you, Happy, and paw the Mom and Dad for me - okay?Peg

The Hankster said...
Dear Happy,I tell you what Happy, woof woof arf b-barkbark. Ruff woof arf propane. ArfArfArf grrrrr woof woof propane accessories woof ruf.Yours Truly,HankPS - Arfarf bark woof Ladybird.

Joyce said...
I'm so happy to see you again, Happy! Seems like it's been a year....Carry your AARF card proudly. It'll get you a discount or two when (if) you ever get to travel with the Mom and Dad. Wishing you a Happy New Year, Happy! No bones about it.:)


Christmas 2008
Published in the Bellevue Reporter, December 2008

Happy Luzzi here to wish you a healthy and prosperous new year. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m the (handsome) beagle who lives with the Luzzi family. I’m officially an old dog now. I got my AARF card, and I’m retired from chasing squirrels and cats. They’re just too darn quick for me. I spend my days sleeping, and occasionally checking the stock market. I just like to see which one is winning, bears or bulls. I could have told you a long time ago that a bull is no match for a bear. The Luzzi dad doesn’t seem to be too happy when the bears are winning on some place called Wall Street. But he says that everything else that’s happened this year helps him keep it in perspective.
I think he’s talking about when everything came to a screeching halt last spring. Instead of planting a garden, the Mom disappeared three times to a hospital. She didn’t cook for a long time, and she couldn’t lift anything. I guess she had surgery on something called the cancer. The phone rang all the time. I heard her telling people that now she has a semi-colon, and she would laugh before she said “Ouch.” I remember when the dad had surgery on his cancer when I was just a puppy. He’s fine now, so I knew the mom would be fine, too. And that’s how I know that first you get cancer, then you get perspective.
My boy Joe came back here to live, and he lets me bunk with him. Just after he came home, the brother, John, moved out. John has a nice girlfriend named Trish, and she came over with her family on the day we ate turkey. We all like Trish a lot. My boy even proposed to her saying, “If my brother doesn’t marry you, I’m going to kick his…” Well, you get the idea.
The mom flew to Lake Tahoe when she got better, and a week later the dad drove there to pick her up. They went to a place called Yo-seh-mitty. I heard the mom say that it was spectacular. She even liked driving through Gold Country and finding a town called Murphys. I guess the mom is feeling better now, because she has two jobs, and is gone a lot. I really miss her cooking, especially when she “accidentally” drops stuff for me.
The mom and dad talked to family a lot. I heard them say words like premature grand-baby, detox, counseling, dementia, unemployment, and shingles. But now their conversations have words like grateful, healthy, improved, and sober. I don’t understand, but I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.