Advent Calendar
Day 1:
We went to church that day, me, my wife Rhonda and the dog Rhyll. I know, I know... who has a dog with a name like that... and who takes a dog to church? Rhonda does and what Rhonda wants she gets. I could have put up a fight but what’s the point? A miffed wife equals a misery life. Rhyll always sides with her mistress and has been known to nip my heels to show support.
‘Never... Rhyll doesn’t bite. Do you my precious pooch?’ my wife replied as she cuddled her mutt. ‘You must have got your feet under her at the wrong moment. She likes her space. You know that.’
That dog gets more affection than I’ve ever collected... even in the early days of our getting together when sex was on the agenda.
The priest likes Rhyll and Rhonda. Rhonda does the flowers for the church. She bakes him a cake every week. So do four of the other middle-aged women in the congregation. It’s a sort of best of the bake off. He’s a fat, canny bastard. Always praises them equally but never in the same breath. Keeps them at their ovens, sugaring his path to heaven. Except for Lent when he loses a kilo or two. But then it’s double do after as the four compete to swamp the good father with chocolate porn.
Not Carol though. She doesn’t do anything for the church except turn up for services and light a candle as she leaves.
Rhonda and I never sit near Carol. She hates dogs. I asked her once if the candle was in remembrance of her husband. The look she flashed suggested her dead hubby rated right down there with dogs.
After church we walked home through the forest. Rhonda kept Rhyll on the lead.
‘They’ve spotted wild boar,’ she explained. ‘We don’t want Rhyll hurt. You know what those feral pigs are like.’
Now that’s worth a prayer. Three Hail Marys for the swines.
Back home Rhonda got out three advent calendars and placed them on the marble mantelpiece amidst the fake holly and plastic pinecones. She opened the first door on each calendar and handed me a chocolate wrapped in red foil, another for herself and to Rhyll a plain, bone-shaped chocolate.
‘I thought chocolate was like poison for dogs,’ I said.
Rhonda smiled and replied, ‘Not these. I got these at the pet shop. Just for doggies. You wouldn’t want my baby to miss out, would you?’
Want to make a bet?
Rhyll growled.
That damn dog is psychic.
Day 2:
I saw Carol today. She was in the delicatessen section of the supermarket. I was buying six cans of pedigree dog food.
She smiled.
I walked up to her. She smelt of lavender. She was buying French air-dried salami. It’s made from pork.
Rhonda hates the French. She says it’s because of what happened to her on a school trip... my lips are sealed.
Light bulb moment. Supermarket to super plan.
Day 3:
Rhyll is a cockapoo. The clue to her temperament lies in the third syllable.
Facts about poo breed dogs. They all have genes from poodles. Poodles were originally hunting dogs. They’re intelligent... so Rhyll’s breeder said.
If Rhyll is typical she’s inherited the possessive, arrogant, finicky traits of the poodle combined with the yappiness and stench of cocker spaniels.
Rhonda wants Rhyll to be a mother.
Bitches...both of them.
Day 4:
‘Are you stalking me?’ Carol laughed.
‘It’s free forest,’ I smiled. ‘Walk this way often?’
‘Most days. I’m fascinated by the wild boar.’
‘Me too,’ I lied.
Note to self. Research feral pigs.
Day 5:
Did you know pigs are omnivores? That means they eat anything... even poo.
Day 6:
I got our credit card statement today. Our money is held in a joint account. I earn it. Rhonda spends it. Last month she spent £400 on hairdressing. £100 pounds kept her roots blonde. The other £300 meant Rhyll smelt like any pampered pooch would if it had a conditioned wash and blow dry every Saturday... in preparation for Mass.
I fed Rhyll a real chocolate drop... after the advent calendar doggy-do one... when Rhonda wasn’t looking. I swear Rhyll winked.
There are many ways to skin a cat...or a cockapoo. Watch this space mutt head.
Day 7:
I bought a lavender bush today. Rhonda was furious.
‘I hate lavender,’ she shouted.
I know.
‘Lavender represents purity, silence, devotion serenity, grace and calmness,’ I replied.
‘Where did you learn that?’ Rhonda asked.
Carol told me when I said her perfume blew me away.
I shrugged.
My sources are secret.
Rhyll sat on my slippers and farted.
Day 8:
‘Why are you interested in wild boar?’ I asked Carol when I accidently on purpose collided with her in the forest.
‘Long story,’ she said.
‘Extended walk,’ I replied, ‘tell me all.’
‘I thought you said you were into wild pigs,’ Carol said while collecting dropped pine cones and loading them into her lime green rucksack. She loves colour, my Carol does. Today she is wearing a hot pink puffa jacket and turquoise laces in her walking boots. Her red hair is curly, piled high like a pineapple. I can imagine her as an exotic fairy blown off course from the tropics.
‘You tell me yours and I’ll show you mine,’ I replied.
I’m not sure she heard because she launched straight into a lecture. Everything from legislation on wild mammals to European distribution statistics regarding herds from Germany to the Forest of Dean... a right bore on boars.
‘Nothing I can add,’ I said.
Day 9:
Cockapoos suffer from eye and joint problems. Rhyll has had a number of visits to the vet over the last six weeks. Today I got the bill... £500. Seems that mutt has got glaucoma in her its eyes, hip dysplasia and suspect kidneys.
Rhonda is beside herself with angst.
So am I. That bitch is going to cost me £150 per month in medication for the rest of her life. That’s in addition to the grooming.
Rhonda tells me she’s heard of a therapist who specialises in dog massage.
What can I research on dog euthanasia?
I feed Rhyll a large bar of high percentage, cocoa chocolate when I take her for a walk.
Rhonda gives her a cuddle and the dog choc from the canine Advent calendar.
Note that star in the East mutt head? This wise man has your number.
Day 10:
Rhonda went to the clean the church after we had the daily offerings from the advent calendar with our morning coffee.
I drove to four supermarkets and bought a six pack of large sweet corn cans from each.
‘Why did you buy so many?’ Rhonda asked.
‘Organic fertilizer,’ I replied.
‘So how does that work out alongside the slug pellets and weed killer?’ Rhonda snapped.
Day 11:
I went to mid-week Eucharist with Rhonda... and Rhyll.
When the priest talked about the communion ritual with the bread and wine representing the body and blood of Christ I felt quite uplifted. My very own sign that I was on the right path.
Halleluiah!
Rhonda smiled as I drank the wine and held my hand afterwards in the pew.
Rhyll snarled silently, her mutt lips taught with resentment at Rhonda’s touch.
Amen!
Day 12:
Did you know that sweet corn is popular in hog baits, because hogs can easily recognize the smell? Corn ferments after it’s soaked for several days, creating a smell that will attract hogs but keep other animals, such as deer, away.
Day: 13:
‘I really like walking and talking with you, Carol,’ I said, ‘I mean REALLY, REALLY like.’
‘I enjoy it too,’ said Carol.
‘Perhaps we could have a drink together at the Miners’ Arms after our walk?’ I suggested.
Carol replied, ‘I know you follow me.’
Was that look on her face a flirt or a smirk?
‘I like you,’ I said.
‘I like you too.’
‘Then it’s a date?’
Day: 14
Another day, another bar of chocolate for Rhyll when Rhonda wasn’t looking.
Rhyll cocked her head to one side but quaffed it anyway.
Score one to me.
Day: 15
The highlight of my day was watching Carol photographing wild boar. I hid behind the oak trees.
Watch and learn.
Day: 16
Rhonda baked a cake for the priest and took fresh holly and mistletoe to the church.
Was the priest going to get lucky and score a kiss?
I went to check the sweet corn... fermenting nicely.
Day: 17
Rhyll is getting used to our clandestine arrangement. I gave her two blocks of finest Columbian dark chocolate today.
Day: 18
I suggested a long walk in the woods with Rhyll to Rhonda. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea given Rhyll was off her food.
‘Fresh air and a good run will do her a power of good,’ I argued.
‘We’d better keep her on the lead. I hear the wild boar are on the rampage,’ Rhonda advised.
Live in hope.
‘You’re in an odd mood today,’ Rhonda mused when I told her of a new route through the forest that I had discovered.
Last supper... for you and the pigs.
Day: 19
I went to the Miners’ Arms. I spotted the hot pink puffa jacket straight away and headed to the table.
‘Liz will be pleased to put a face to your name,’ Carol replied as she carried a pint back from the bar.
‘Who’s Liz?’
‘My girlfriend, she owns the pub. I met her through the Association of Shooting and Conservation.’
Confused? Perfection is hard to imagine.
Day: 20
I reported her missing to the police.
‘Your wife done this before?’ they asked.
‘She has had her moments,’ I agreed, ‘but she usually lets me know when she’ll be back.’
‘She got family she might go to?’ asked the police.
‘No, there’s just us... and our dog.’
They asked about our social life.
‘Jealous type?’
‘No, not really. There are more women than men in our congregation. Rhonda and I talk to everyone.’
I left it with them. They contacted me later in the day and said the priest had mentioned I was friendly with church goer Carol.
Confession good for soul, you pious prick?
‘Carol doesn’t have much to do with Rhonda outside of services,’ I said.
‘But you do?’ asked the police.
‘We often bump into each other when we’re out walking.’
‘You see this Carol without your wife around?’ they asked.
‘I’ve had a drink with her in the pub,’ I admitted.
‘Your missus upset about that?’
‘Not really,’ I replied. ‘Carol’s gay.’
Day: 21
I read on the Internet that if you cut up a corpse into six pieces, sixteen hungry pigs can go through 90 kilos of meat in about eight minutes.
Rhonda weighed 60 kilos. The sweet corn slop weighed a kilo. I just spread it over her body, like a balm. The boar tusks were more efficient than a meat cleaver.
Damn dog escaped. Took me half an hour to catch her.
I took Rhyll back to the house and fed her chocolate... a lot of it.
Comfort food.
Day: 22
Rhyll rolled in wild boar poo during our walk.
Whoever said a dog is a man’s best friend lied.
I doused Rhyll in lavender oil when we returned to the house.
Sweet revenge.
Rhyll bit me.
Bitch!
I gave her my your-days-are-numbered look.
Rhyll rolled on the newly planted lavender bush and squashed it.
No dinner for Rhyll but I gave her the dog chocolate from the advent calendar along with a chocolate laxative for humans.
Who laughs last laughs longest.
Day: 23
No news of Rhonda, the police informed me.
Three members from the congregation visited.
Carol didn’t.
Day 24:
I went to Midnight Mass. The priest mentioned me in his prayers.
Another ritual... whatever makes him happy.
People mostly avoided my eyes when they offered their condolences.
‘I’m sure she’ll be back. Menopause is a difficult time for women,’ one of the cake bakers said.
‘May the Lord be with you,’ the priest blessed.
I sincerely hope He leaves me alone.
‘How is poor Rhyll coping?’ another of the cake bakers asked.
Home alone yapping her head hoarse.
‘Rhyll will always be welcome in my church,’ the priest whispered.
Dog collars united.
‘You should have brought her to mass,’ someone said. ‘She’s such a sensitive soul.’
Since when did poo dogs get souls?
Day 25:
Rhyll and I started with the last chocolate from all three advent calendars. Doors opened sesame. No more surprises. Rhyll got double dos and ate Rhonda’s. No need to be wasteful.
I switched on the television to watch the carol service. The dog hates singing. I turned the volume up full blast.
Silent Night.
It seemed a shame to waste a good festive dinner. So I shared some with Rhyll. Fed it to her on Rhonda’s plate, turkey with all the trimmings. I want to fatten Rhyll up. Those wild boar deserve a decent morsel for a good New Year’s Day.
She barked when the doorbell rang.
Oh God, please don’t let it be that damned priest.
The two policemen at the door didn’t like Rhyll either. She snapped at their heels.
Fat lot of luck, mutt head. These pigs wear serious boot leather. Lose a tooth!
The two policemen asked to come in. Seems they want to ask me some more questions about my absent wife.
Hors d’œuvrés officers… wild boar salami? Special Christmas resolution… recipe courtesy of Rhonda.
About the author
Dianne Stadhams is an Australian, resident in the UK, who works globally in marketing and project management. With a PhD in visual anthropology she has used creative tools - drama, dance, radio, video - to empower others in some of the world's poorest nations. She believes passionately that the arts are valuable tools to promote social cohesion, provoke debate and influence attitudes, mind sets and actions. www.stadhams.com
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