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This is a guarantee that the column you are about to read will be the only one this year that includes a blind dog, John Steinbeck's "Of Mice And Men" and a woman who wanted a chainsaw for a Christmas present.
And it all has to do with my family.
The story starts with our family dog, Daisy, who is beloved by everyone in my household except for one person -- me.
Now don't get me wrong: I love dogs. We used to have a collie mix named Shadow that was simply the best dog in the world. We got Daisy during the final years of Shadow's life, and when he passed, it was a tough act to follow.
Daisy is not the brightest dog in the world. I get in trouble because I call her Lenny, like the character in Steinbeck's great American novel "Of Mice And Men."
If you've read the book, you can begin your laughter now. If you've never read the book or even seen one of the many screen adaptations, Lenny is not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.
For example, Daisy has allergies, which cause her to sneeze a lot. She will sneeze and bang her head into the floor or against a wall, depending on where she is in the house. Instead of moving, she will continue to sneeze and bang her head in the same spot until she stops sneezing.
And let's not forget the time where I had her in the backyard, just hanging out with her when she completely freaked me out by diving in the air at a low-flying bird, which she captured in her mouth, then released alive. She wanted to play with it. The bird did not appreciate being treated like a frisbee. I was now afraid for my life! My wife Ann Marie, however, thought it was really cool.
Recently, Ann Marie told me a story about a blind dog that was up for adoption in Blair County. She showed me a picture of the dog and read me her story, and the dog was adorable.
Now, my wife never asks for anything. And she was not asking for this dog either, but because she never thinks of herself, I thought I would surprise her with this dog as a present.
I was worried about having two dogs in our house because of Daisy being like a bull in a china shop and because of her ability to leave all kinds of stains on our carpet.
I used to say if we got another dog, one of the kids had to go. Suffice to say, our kids haven't asked for another dog recently, though I always wonder if three of them would gang up on one to oust him or her from our brood.
Since Ann Marie offered up a chainsaw or a pistol as possible Christmas gifts -- should I be worried about that? -- a dog seemed a nicer, sweeter suggestion. So we set up to meet the dog and see if it got along with our family, which also includes two cats, two geckos and two fish.
The blind dog liked my wife and two boys but started to go nuts on Daisy. Poor Daisy, she was rejected by a blind dog. How do you think that went over in canine social circles?
And this is how my story has a happy ending, and it does not involve my wife getting a chainsaw, which she says she wants to use to cut down trees in our backyard, or a pistol, which she says she wants to use on critters that get in her garden during the summer.
This is where I tell you how much more I like Daisy than I did before the blind dog came into our lives.
How can you not feel bad for a dog rejected by another dog, a blind dog mind you, that was much smaller than our Daisy. The blind dog did find a home, too, which makes this a nice Christmas read even moreso.
So, now I try to be more patient with Daisy. For instance, she will watch me get ready for bed, which includes making lunches for my wife and boys for school. After brushing my teeth, I lay my head down on the pillow, and then she comes up to me, puts her paw on my side of the bed and whines because she now needs to go to the bathroom.
As I walk past all of the little shadows of mementos left by her on my carpet -- my mother would call them *#!@ stains -- to the front door, I think about that little blind dog.
When she runs out the door and all over the neighborhood, while we are bringing in the groceries, again I think about that little blind dog.
I guess Daisy is lucky that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.
Scott Franco, a member of the sports staff, writes a monthly column for the Mirror.