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46 | The Jewelr y Book A Christmas Collar Two petite canines were part of our family as I was growing up. e first, Holly, a teeny toy terrier named for her arrival on Christmas Eve (in the pocket of my father's overcoat), was gentle, sweet, and mellow. e second, Gin Gin, was her antithesis. Gin Gin had the attitude of a doberman in the body of a Yorkshire Terrier. She kicked back her hind legs like a bull when angry, repeatedly attacked my stuffed Snoopy, and dragged her head along the carpet to remove bows each time she visited the groomer. When displeased, her tiny mouth curled upwards on one side revealing a petite fang. She was a feisty force of nature. Each Christmas, Gin Gin terrorized the tree and its trimmings, nipping branches, growling at tinsel strands, pawing heirloom ornaments. When she discovered the occasional real candy cane, she chewed right through its cellophane wrapper, resulting in a sugar rush that lasted for hours. We oen caught her with both front paws digging furiously into presents, clawing the wrapping paper as if she was tunneling underground. And then there was St. Joseph. Under the Christmas tree, our family always had a nativity – a tableaux depicting the birth of Jesus featuring small ceramic figurines and a wooden manger. For reasons unknown, Gin Gin regularly absconded with the statue of St. Joseph. We would find him on the sunporch, by the stove, in the bathroom, upstairs, downstairs, all over the house! Year aer year, she never once touched the others. Only him. Did the paint on that particular figurine have an appealing taste? We never could explain it. One Christmas, my father decided to surprise my mother with a diamond necklace she had admired in a jewelry store. Bonnie had a very discerning and particular taste, so buying a gi that already had her seal of approval was like winning the lottery. So, one day aer school, the two of us set off on a top secret mission. I loved our adventures. Already a jewelry lover, I was giddy walking into that magical winter wonderland of twinkling lights and fancy showcases. I can still feel the luxurious plush carpeting beneath my winter boots and recall a light scent of fresh pine. e sales associate offered us a gi with purchase, a little golden star-shaped box that doubled as an ornament. I watched her carefully as she arranged the necklace perfectly on a velvety cushion in the box, her seasoned hands bedazzled with two giant diamond rings. Delighting in our secret, my father and I stealthily arranged the star ornament on the tree, tucking it in a lower branch on one side and and wondering if my mother would notice. She didn't. A few days later, my grandparents, parents, and I gathered around the tree to open presents. Anxiously waiting for the finale, my father asked my mother to find her last gi on the Christmas tree. She looked. We looked. It was gone! Five sets of eyes glanced downward at our wayward Yorkie, nonchalantly rolling around on her back in mounds of wrapping paper and ribbons. Gin Gin must have sensed our disdain because she stopped, looked up, and gave us one of her half-mouth snarls. A great house search commenced. And though we did find St. Joseph in Gin Gin's water bowl in the pantry, no star box was recovered. My parents were furious, but my grandmother, Gin Gin's favorite person and protector, quietly rinsed off St. Joseph in the kitchen sink and returned him to the manger. "Bonnie! Joe!" she suddenly beckoned from the living room. ere, in the manger next to a camel and angel, was the star box with telltale tiny teeth marks all over it. Apparently Gin Gin could not get it open, but she sure enjoyed gnawing on it. My mother loved her necklace and we laughed about it for years to come. e true spirit of the holidays lies in finding joy in unexpected moments. And jewelry, of course. Dazzle Dazzle Dazzle Dazzle by Danielle Barber Fall 2024 | Dazzle

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