2009 Layne Family Christmas Letter

As we gaze out our window at swiftly falling snowflakes and home values, we are reminded it is once again that joyous, heartfelt season of Disease on Earth and Shopping at Goodwill.

In addition to stockpiling ammunition and H1N1 vaccine, one of the Layne family’s more significant follies of 2009 was a second experiment with dog ownership.

Taffy (formerly Tiffany) is a Yorkie-Poo, emphasis on the “Poo.” Scientists say a dog’s nose is 10,000 times more powerful than a human’s, which explains how Taffy can detect the intoxicating aroma of another creature’s filth from hundreds of miles away. Pampered and spoiled, she spends her days comatose on the back of the couch or gazing sleepily out the window, dreaming of feces while plotting her escape from captivity. At night, she shakes off the fatigue from her day to prowl the dark recess of our neighborhood, skulking about in the shadows, poking her nose into shrubbery, and begging fights with skunks and raccoons. If the veterinarian hadn’t assured us otherwise, we might have believed she was a mutant house cat, Paris Hilton, or a US Congressman.

Needless to say, Amanda and Allyson adore Taffy who has become the rope in their daily tug-o-war of affections, leaving Taffy both terrified of Allyson and several inches longer stem-to-stern. Truth be told, Taffy has been a terrific learning experience for the girls. Not only has caring for her taught them responsibility, but owing to their gratitude for finally getting a “dog” (and news reports of a nearby cougar siting), Mark no longer needs threaten to smear Taffy with bacon grease and chain her out back at night to get the girls to behave.

Taffy tolerates Mark (no doubt because at some fundamental level, he’s made of meat). Though not thrilled about having another mouth to feed, Mark is likewise learning to accept Taffy. For the benefit of the kids, he has even taught her a few simple commands like “heel,” “sit,” “baa like a lamb,” and “taste like chicken.” Though progress has been slow, it seems she gets a little better – and more plump and juicy – every day.

In one of those Norman Rockwell-like moments which make the many travails of parenthood seem almost worthwhile, Allyson declared if anything tragic ever happened to Karen, leaving Mark as her sole caregiver, she would kill herself. In related news, Amanda announced if [due to a bizarre genetic mishap] she ever happens to have a hillbilly baby, she will name it Heidi. Their work as parents now complete, Karen and Mark moved to Phoenix.

This past winter, Allyson played indoor soccer. In a move rarely attempted by players her age, she impressed coaches and fans alike by removing both pigtails and converting them into a high pony tail, not only during the middle of the game, but while one of her teammates scored on their own goalie. In other sporting news, spring marked the end of Amanda’s competitive dancing career. She has opted to devote her newly acquired free time to drinking the world dry of root beer and brushing up on her SpongeBob.

This summer, the family again traveled east to spend Fourth of July in New Jersey with the Rothmans. Along the way, they stopped to visit fascinating, historically significant places like the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Empire State Building, and Toledo. Everyone had a fabulous time except Ally who, convinced the automotive GPS is a diabolical, free-thinking cyborg bent on marooning her family in some remote, uninhabited place like Iowa, cried the entire trip.

Both girls continue to grow and mature: Amanda into a remarkable young lady, and Allyson – owing to her quick temper, pugilistic tendencies, and ability to conjure flatulence at will – a teenage boy. Everyone who assured K & M the fighting would subside as the girls grew older is an idiot. Not a day goes by the two rapidly aging parents don’t wish they had six more daughters.

In November, Mark attended his 30 year high school reunion. Though very few of his classmates recalled attending high school with a hot air balloon salesman and part time lumberjack named John Malkovich, all were delighted to see John again after so many years.

Karen is adjusting to Ally being in school all day which has freed up more time for her to watch reruns of black-and-white 1960’s television serials in stunning high definition. The constant emotional turmoil of living with a wife, two daughters, two female hamsters, and a female dog has rendered Mark so irrational he has actually considered taking up golf. So far, the medication is helping.

In keeping with this year’s theme, let us pause to recall the words of famous scholar Groucho Marx who said, “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”

Merry Christmas to All, and to All Good Grief,

Karen, Mark, Amanda, Ally, and Taffy

Scooby Poo

We got a dog. At least I’m told it’s a dog.

The dog, or canis lupus familiaris (Latin for large, eating, pooping machine which, if properly provoked, can bite off your leg) is a domesticated subspecies of the Gray Wolf. As such, a true “dog” cannot be carried around in one’s coat pocket, nor shuttled about the house in a baby carriage. A “dog” doesn’t go to the beauty parlor. Nor does a “dog” deserve equal privilege when it comes to familial membership or affairs of state. (“Who should we vote for?” “Let’s ask the dog!”)

The acquisition of our “dog” was the result of my nine-year-old’s insistence that if she didn’t get one, she would run away to join the circus. I made her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wished her good luck growing a beard, and sent her on her way.

My wife, on the other hand, is one of those sensitive, nurturing types who actually cares what the children think. As a result, our house is now home not only to four humans, but two hamsters, two parakeets, several fish, a few tadpoles, a guinea pig (the other white meat), and Taffy, the “dog.”

All the aforementioned are females (except the tadpoles and me who are of no discernable gender) and each possessed of far greater social and sentimental stature within our tribe than their adult caregivers. (Egyptian pharaohs had less elaborate funerals than those routinely conducted by our daughters for an expired goldfish.)

Don’t get me wrong; I like dogs. What’s more, most dogs like me – no doubt because at some fundamental level, I’m made of meat. Even so, I have been accused throughout this ordeal of not being a “dog person.”

I disagree. Wet nose and floppy ears notwithstanding, I am a dog person. I nonetheless feel compelled to help my misinformed family understand that Taffy is not a dog – or at least no mutation of the species I’ve ever encountered – as she simply does not meet the classic definition of “dog.”

The mere ability to bark and growl is not sufficient proof of one’s dog-ness, as our neighbor’s cat does both. Authentic dogs live idyllic existences of unfettered leisure. They spend their days sleeping, eating, chasing the occasional stick, offering a perfunctory “woof” as the ice cream truck drives off with the neighbor’s kid. What’s more, they’re known to be brave, resilient, and of rollicking good humor. (See “Lassie,” “Rin Tin Tin,” “Scooby Doo.”)

Taffy is nothing like this. Pampered, spoiled, and aloof, she despises getting wet, refusing to go outside in the rain. She spends her days comatose on one of the girls’ beds, or preening herself on the back of the couch as she gazes sleepily out the window, no doubt plotting her escape from captivity.

At night she shakes off the fatigue from her day to prowl the dark recess of our neighborhood, skulking around corners, twitching nervously at every sound, and poking about in the shrubbery. If the veterinarian hadn’t convinced us otherwise, I might have believed she was a large house cat, Paris Hilton, or a US Congressman.

Clinically speaking, Taffy is a Yorkie-Poo, an apparent eponymous appellation based on the breed’s ability to detect the intoxicating aroma of other creatures’ filth from miles away, and likewise their insatiable appetite for the stuff.

Scientists say a dog’s nose is 10,000 times more powerful than a human’s, which explains why Taffy’s primary skill appears to be sniffing. According to my wife, just because she is wont to spend half an hour walking in circles searching for a worthy patch of earth to defile with excrement* is no reason to consider her unusual. (*Unless she’s indoors in which case any old Persian rug will do.)

Of course owning a dog does have certain advantages. Not only are my toes always clean, but in terms of home security, a dog has no equal.

Her keen senses ever tuned to the many dangers which threaten our safety, we have come to depend on Taffy to warn us of squirrels trespassing in our yard, robins lurking in the garden – that the guinea pig is awake, or the goldfish swimming – along with countless other admonitions vital to the well being of our family.

She’s also been a terrific learning experience for the girls. Not only has caring for Taffy taught them responsibility, but owing to their gratitude for finally getting a “dog” (and recent news reports of a nearby cougar siting), I no longer need threaten to smear Taffy with bacon grease and chain her out back at night to get them to behave.

Our experiment with dog ownership is a work in progress. And although I don’t consider Taffy a “dog” in the strict sense of the word, I am learning to accept her. For the benefit of the kids, I’ve even been teaching her a few simple commands like “heel,” “sit,” “baa like a lamb,” and “taste like chicken.” It seems she gets a little better (and more plump and juicy) every day

GM Got Game

DETROIT – In a move industry analysts say could salvage the beleaguered US automobile manufacturer from the brink of financial disaster, General Motors announced plans this week to merge with iconic US toy and game manufacturer, Hasbro, as an integral first step in their bid to build the first Nerf automobile.

GM CEO Dick Wagoner believes it’s a perfect example of the sort of “outside the box” thinking GM is known for.

“You take two somewhat antiquated, market-worn concepts and bring them together to create something altogether new and revolutionary – like the Saturn, for instance.”

Reached during GM’s quarterly shareholder meeting at a Denny’s restaurant in suburban Detroit, Robert Lutz, head of GM Global Product Development, agreed.

“It’s kind of like combining peanut butter and chocolate, or pig and human DNA.”

Brian Goldner, President and CEO of Hasbro, and current custodian of such powerful brand names as Tonka, G.I. Joe, Monopoly, Transformers, and Mr. Potato Head, offered his own perspective.

“We saw it as an opportunity to branch out from toys and games into safe, reliable, low cost transportation – and to get our hands on a boatload of primo real estate for next to nothing.”

The GM Bounce will feature a lightweight aluminum frame surrounded by high density foam rubber. Like the VW Beetle, it will be marketed in dozens of pastel shades, or for an added fee, in popular NFL and college team colors.

Hasbro was initially attracted to the many “green” aspects of the idea including outstanding fuel economy, insignificant greenhouse emissions, a first class safety rating, and dramatically lower insurance premiums for the American consumer.

According to State Farm agent Jayson Buckwilde, “Sure, a six year old can tip it over, but guess what? No damage. It’s a Nerf!”

Auto industry experts say the move will finally allow GM to compete on the global stage where safety and fuel economy are established must-haves.

GM President Frederick Henderson couldn’t agree more. “With a little luck, we hope to post a profit for the first time since 1976.”

As an added benefit, the new “sponge on wheels” is expected to dramatically reduce US dependence on foreign oil. Since the vehicle will weigh next to nothing, the energy required to operate it will be negligible.

“Our engineers are already working to adapt the low voltage electric motor we use in Kota The Triceratops,” said Goldner, adding, “Nobody else in the business offers a car powered by six D cell batteries.” [Not included.]

Until the all-electric version of the vehicle becomes available, GM will substitute gas powered 2-cycle chainsaw engines in an effort to bring the product to market as early as next year. GM believes this strategy will also help ease the transition-to-electric for their many loyal customers who aren’t quite ready to give up on dirty, noisy, internal combustion.

CEO Goldner admits the idea came to him as a result of a Ray Romano stand-up comedy routine during which the popular comic suggested the idea of a Nerf automobile.

“A good idea is a good idea regardless where it comes from,” echoed Wagoner, speaking by megaphone from a retired Goodyear blimp the company now uses as its corporate aircraft. “Look! There’s my house!”

Donald Crashmore of the National Transportation Safety Board believes the Nerf car will also be a lifesaver. “It’s brilliant when you think about it. A perfect fit for the next generation of drivers who will be far more distracted than drivers of today.”

Crashmore refers to recent NTSB study which predicts a 122% increase in vehicular collisions by 2012 owing to emerging electronic technologies that will allow motorists to simultaneously talk, text, surf the web, and watch TV on their mobile phones.

While the exact cost of Hasbro’s acquisition of GM stock was not disclosed, it is believed to run in the tens of thousands.

This announcement comes on the heels of GM’s recent use of federal bailout funds to acquire Chrysler Motor Corporation, thereby expanding GM’s branding to include Buick, Cadillac, GMC, Chevrolet, Hummer, Pontiac, Saab, Saturn, Chrysler, Dodge, Plymouth, and Jeep.

Said Wagoner, “Competition is good for the marketplace, even if we are competing against ourselves.”

As a personal favor to Wagoner, Hasbro has agreed to launch a line of corporate action figures bearing his likeness. The product will be marketed under the brand “CEO Joe.”

© 2009 Mark J. Layne/Layne-Duck Productions, Ltd.