I’ve been told you can understand any language, so I’m confident you’ll be able to read this letter.
First of all, let me say that I’ve been really good this year — at least by your standards.
I’ve eaten all my food, even the vegetables. Everybody says I eat too fast and tend to leave a bit of a mess around my plate, but that’s because I’m in a hurry to get on to the next thing. Doctors call it HDHP, ADHD, HTTP . . . something like that. The “Poynt” is, it’s not supposed to be my fault. Mom says I get it from my dad. She told us he runs around a lot.
Back to business. I always do what I’m told to do . . . well, most of the time . . . whenever somebody’s watching . . . okay, okay, let’s agree to . . . usually. But that’s no better or worse than anybody else, so that really shouldn’t be considered a negative.
I play well with my little brother Max, unless he steals one of my toys. Even then, I really don’t try to kill him, just kind of remind him that I still have seniority over him. I mean, that’s only fair, right? After all, I was first-born. That does give me a slight advantage.
Oh, and before I forget, I really didn’t mean to break the big lamp beside the couch. Max and I were just playing a little too hard and I slipped. I won’t say whether or not Max pushed me ‘cause if I say the wrong thing that might put him on the naughty list and I sure wouldn’t want that to happen.
Now that we have all of that out of the way, here’s my Christmas wish list. And since Max is still too little to write, I’ll just include him on my list, then you can count us both as one. That’ll save you some time and money.
See, Santa, I do think of someone other than myself. That alone should earn me some more points on the Nice list.
So here goes nothing.
Max and I recently lost our home to a fire. Although the firemen rescued both me and my brother, our mom died in the fire. So, Max and I have been pretty much in limbo for the last several months.
We’ve been hearing rumors of foster care, but so far there have been no takers, and the few who have taken an interest seemed to only want one of us.
I don’t need to tell you, Santa, that Max and I are terrified of getting split up. It seems we’re too old and too big for the average family. All everybody seems to want is newborns.
Tell you what, Santa, can I make you a deal? If you can find me and Max a good home — together — with a loving family, we promise — I’m sure I can speak for Max, too — to behave to the best of our abilities, fight as little as possible, and most important, we promise to love and protect our new family, their home and their property and ask for nothing but love – and an occasional bone to chew on once in a while.
Community Editor Bobbie Poynter can be reached at email@example.com.
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