Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the kennel
Not a creature was stirring, save one wiggy spaniel.
The leashes were hung in the office with care,
Waiting for owners to return from afar.

The dogs were sacked out after a day full of play,
Stretched out in their runs and dreaming away.
My Lab and my pit bull following my lead,
We headed upstairs for some much deserved sleep.

When out on the curb there arose a commotion,
The kennel erupted– a bark-fueled explosion.
Down the stairwell I flew, and tried to begin
The impossible job of quieting the din.

Then unlocking the door and peering outside,
I struggled to take in a startling sight.
What to my eyes did appear through the storm,
But a sled and eight dogs parked in our loading zone.

Said I to the musher, “Please pardon me, sir,
You can’t leave that rig here, it’s creating a stir!
Besides, there’s two inches of snow on the ground.
Your sled will get towed, your dogs sent to the pound!”

He shook his head sadly and spat with a frown,
“Each damn year it gets harder to park in this town.
I’m beginning to think your Mayor makes laws
For no other reason than to fuck with Old Claus!”

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