As Christmas is a time that spreads so much joy, I’d like to tell you a heartwarming story about my mom and her Christmas dog, Tilly.

Tilly’s story, set in 2006, is nearly twenty years old. 

So, in came Tilly! A half-dachshund, half-Bichon Frisé, with an adorable scruffy appearance that was the color of wheat, nibbled on my coat buttons throughout the entire car ride home on the night my dad and I welcomed her into the family. 

We planned to keep her presence a secret for a couple of weeks until Christmas, as it was already December 13th, so we sneaked her in.

My mother’s access to my room or office by stairs became impossible because of a car wreck. The plan, thus, was to keep Tilly upstairs: fed, cuddled, entertained, plus, above all, quiet. 

We were unaware, but Tilly had other ideas. 

A very large and tall J.C. Penney box, open at the top with the top flaps cut off, and with a blanket and toys inside, served as a puppy playpen. The second her paws touched the blanket at the bottom, she started whining. I tried to hush her gently, and she answered with louder protests. Of course, I had her wandering around upstairs initially, but when she tried to befriend my rabbit, he ended up stomping his back feet at her, which made her run and yelp with fright out of my office, around the corner, and into my room.

Because I thought she might be lonely, I took the “playpen” with me wherever I went. Nothing doing. 

To reassure her she wasn’t alone, I tried cuddling her for a long time. 

While she was in the “playpen”, I tried giving her treats and playing with her. 

I turned on the radio for her. 

Even with the “playpen” beside my bed while I tried to sleep, she kept whining all night. 

I’d reach over and pet her, and she’d stop when I did. Then I’d roll over, and she’d start up again. 

I couldn’t let her onto the bed with me. She was such a tiny bean; I was afraid I’d roll over and squish her. So, instead, I spent the night alternating between petting and comforting her and her serenading me with her cries. 

In the morning, I went downstairs, knowing my mom had heard Tilly and that she had ruined the surprise. 

My mom couldn’t figure out why I looked so terrible. 

I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t asking me about the whining echoing down the stairwell. 

Still, she hadn’t heard! She didn’t know! 

There was no way I could keep Tilly a secret for another twelve days, so I brought her downstairs to my mom, saying, “Merry Christmas!” 

My mom lit up like a little kid at Christmas. She was so excited, and Tilly was so excited, and I was excited but also exhausted. 

My mom said she couldn’t believe we’d snuck Tilly in and kept her quiet all night! I answered that we hadn’t and told her about my sleepless night. 

She was even more surprised. 

My mom lowered Tilly into her playpen to go to the kitchen. 

And this time Tilly didn’t whine. Instead, she Tigger-bounced off her back legs, grabbed hold of the handle that was cut into the side of the box with her front paws, lifted herself up like she was about to do a pull-up, and squeezed herself out of the handle, plopping onto the floor with a tiny thump. 

She rose to her feet and wandered over to my mom, head held high. 

Turns out, this was a preview of the next ten years: Tilly doing high-dives off the back of the couch, leaping over baby gates and furniture, running up vet bills and giving us minor cardiac arrest regularly, no matter the measures taken to stop the furry little Evel Knievel. 

But through it all, we loved her, and she loved us. She was my mom’s very own special Christmas puppy.