As I said, I returned home yesterday morning to see how Doug was making out with the emu. He was almost to “first base” when I found them, so I gave them a little privacy.
The evening of the seventh day before Christmas marks the day we trek to the forest to find a Christmas tree. As the Dougs and I were choosing our saws, Premier Campbell dropped in to offer his assistance, which we gratefully accepted. Gordon, you see, is an expert in forestry practices and often astounds the villagefolk with his wisdom. Just last week he revealed that there is more old-growth forest now than there was 100 years ago. Amazing! At this rate we can clear-cut entire mountain ranges for decades and always come out ahead. Gordon is a very clever Canuck, and we’re so proud to have him in our village.
With that, we set out to find the perfect tree. Gordon’s mastery of the saw thrilled us and soon we had a great pile of felled trees to choose from. We left behind the largest of them, and instead chose one less than a metre across in the trunk. Against the cut end of the trunk, we pitched a lean-to and bedded down for the night, falling asleep while Gordon gleefully counted the hundreds of rings of our tree’s great bole.
The Dougs, Gordon, and I arrived home this morning with the tree in tow, and settled in at the Campbell igloo for a hot breakfast of spotted owl poutine. Gordon entertained us during the meal with stories of his rise to power when, suddenly, he began to gag and choke, and turned blue in the face. Luckily, his twin brother, Larry, stepped in and performed the Heimlich, which dislodged the offending object. Somehow, Gordon had choked on the wishbone. That’s what happens when you eat too quickly, I suppose.
I’m looking forward to this evening, when we erect the tree in the village centre, which always puts a warm glow in the hearts of the village men. Then we’ll string it with garish baubles and blinking lights and gather round, sing folk songs, and quaff pints of mulled beer until we fall unconscious.