As a dog-author, I am a keen observer of my surroundings. I watch. I listen. I think. I sniff out the story, you might say.

So, at Christmastime, I am extra alert, because all the humans seem to go crazy. Together. As a group, you people act in very unusual ways.

You rush, but you talk about calmness. You frown, but you sing about warm-hearted smiles. You give gifts, which should be such a friendly thing to do, but you fight each other in stores over these loving gifts you are buying.

You careen madly around the town, gripping your steering wheels until your knuckles are white, frantically yapping on your cellphones, blowing your horns madly, and racing each other to a parking spot to save a few steps.

THEN, you pack up all your stuff, rush out of town to visit your loved ones, where you fight and argue about unimportant things. I’ll bet some of you even kick your dogs—that is the dogs you haven’t parked in some sterile “pet hotel” somewhere.

So, I observe, and I write my books.

I now have TWO books of Whacknoodle Christmas stories, and I offer them as helpful aids to humans, who seem so stressed out at this time of year, to people who have forgotten how to even smile–much less laugh a big, jolly guffaw.

If Christmas is such a happy time, why don’t I, your observant dog-author, see more happiness?

If it is such a peaceful time, why are you careening madly from place to place? If it is a time to stop and think about important things, I guess you can do that while you’re waiting in line to buy some more ugly plastic junk.

Well, how can I help?

I suggest you read my Christmas books, and I believe they will lift your spirits. The books are about my most adventurous father, Par Whack, and his untiring efforts to bring joy and happiness to the people of his town, Dahlonegee.

Oh, sure. Par always has trouble with the human authorities. Yes, I know that! Yes, he is chased by the police, the sheriff, the evil dog-catcher (Elrod P. Snodgrass), and his sworn enemy, Mr. Wimpy.

Oh yes, Par has to be alert at all times, even when he is spreading holiday joy and happiness.

But look at the joy Par brings to Dahlonegee! Oh, I know the mashed-potato explosion was not a happy moment for the humans, but it was just a miscalculation by Par–a small error anyone could have made.

And, yes I know that Mr. Wimpy was UNABLE to appreciate the beauty of ‘The Twelve Dogs of Christmas’ quartet and their beautiful rendition of classic Christmas songs.

And, yes, I know that Mr. Wimpy was FURIOUS about Par enjoying his Christmas dinner on the front seat of Mr. Wimpy’s new Cadillac.

Oh, yes, I know that when the dogs took to the stage at the big Christmas festival, the authorities were NOT in a cheerful holiday mood, and I remember that when Par simply wanted to sit on Santa’s knee, it was widely misunderstood, and lead to yet another mad police chase.

And, of course, I know that when Par hopped on that big horse and took Mr. Wimpy and the police on the Hayride of Doom, SOME people didn’t understand the joy of the situation.

(But Par was having a holiday ball, and the children who cheered him with “Go, Dog, Go!” were. AND he got his picture on the front page of the paper. Again!)

So, here’s the thing.

Par does his very best to bring the cheer of the dog, the happiness of the big wag, and the shared music of the season to all the frazzled people of Dahlonegee, and he has vowed that he will do it every year. EVERY year!

Imagine the dedication of this dog, my adventurous father, who will devote himself to helping humans be more joyous and happy at Christmas. He will spare no effort, and will dodge every missile thrown at him! He will evade the police, and sing his songs all the while!

He will never quit, because, as he often says, “Whacks aren’t quitters!” He’ll keep doing everything he can, every year, to help the humans be happier.

And, when you read my books about Par’s wonderful Christmas work, you’ll share the joy, too. You’ll smile.

You’ll laugh. You’ll find a child to read and share his wonderful Christmas stories.

You’ll be happy at the efforts of Uncle Elvis, Woofer, Whizzer, and Par Whack.

You’ll find yourself singing “Fleck the Halls with Bowls of Jello.”

And you’ll be smiling. I KNOW you will.

(And your humble dog-author, me, Perdita Whacknoodle, will be happy for that, too!)