Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a puppy was stirring, as quiet as a mouse.
Their dishes were placed in the kitchen with care,
In hopes that Kris Kringle soon would be there.
Our boys were snuggled on one of their beds,
While visions of Milk Bones danced in their heads.
Their stockings were hanging, up close to their nose,
With lights to make sure that Santa would know.
(To be continued..)