As narrated by Kira the Ridgeback; Faithful Hound of Jay Arenski; Senior Warehouse Floor Supervisor.

CHAPTER 1 — THE SUMMONS

Jay bends down — unnecessarily — and says:

“Kira. We’re going to the warehouse. Peter’s coming.”

This usually means: “Objects will be unwrapped. Opinions will be expressed. Tom will be involved.”

I rise. A Ridgeback goes where she is needed. Maybe I am a little bit stiffer in the paws these days but duty calls.

CHAPTER 2 — TOM, ALREADY ENTHUSED

When we arrive, Tom is already there.

Tom — Jay’s godson, enthusiastic, warm-hearted, and dressed as though he has been styled by a Parisian fashion student working from memory — beams at us.

Today he is wearing the leather jacket, which smells like:

– a Balkan taxi,

– a forgotten suitcase,

– adventure,

– and the confidence of youth.

Below the jacket?

Trousers that believe they are tighter than they actually are, and shoes designed for tap dancing,

despite Tom never having tapped anything in his life except while tapping his fingers on the wheel of the battered Lexus while waiting for Jay to finish conversing with some other old Antiquarian.

Tom believes this is fashion.

Jay believes this is a cry for help.

I believe this is simply our Tom.

“KIRAAA!” he shouts, the jacket creaking in alarm.

I allow one elegant wag.

Any more than that and the boy might see that as tacit approval of his dress code!

CHAPTER 3 — THE FORNASETTI SCREEN

Tom unveils the double-sided Fornasetti screen.

One side: birds. The other: mandolins.

Tom spins it too fast. Jay inhales sharply. I remain poised.

CHAPTER 4 — THE JACQUEMART BRONZE DOG

A bronze hound by Henri Alfred Jacquemart (Paris, 1824–1896):

82 cm tall, signed with initials, exquisitely modelled. That’s bigger than me and I am 34 Kilos (though I do indulge over the holidays).

He radiates calm authority.

Jay pauses. Tom salutes. I blink slowly — the Ridgeback sign of mutual respect.

CHAPTER 5 — THE BRIENZ BLACK FOREST BEAR

A masterpiece from the carvers of Brienz — a piano stool carved with astonishing brilliance.

As a pup, I devoured Jay’s book on Black Forest carving — so became acquainted with Swiss Carvings not through study, but through healthy digestion.

The bear stands mid-roar, expression reading:

“I WAS DESTINED FOR GLORY — NOT TO SUPPORT SONATAS.”

I agree. Even I know the difference between Sinatra and sonatas, and only one of them goes with Christmas biscuits.

CHAPTER 6 — THE ANCIENT HEADS

One terracotta — serene.

One Theban — quietly powerful.

Tom walks past them nervously.

CHAPTER 7 — THE LATE PERIOD ISIS

Jay unwraps her with reverence.

An anthropoid figure of Isis carved from a single log: gilded face, glass-inlaid eyes, bronze brows, tripartite wig.

She smells of ancient wood, gesso, temples, and decades in a French collection.

Tom: “Is she looking at me?”

Jay: “She’s 2,300 years old. She’s seen worse.”

CHAPTER 8 — PETER ARRIVES IN THE RED VOLVO (WITH AUGUSTUS)

A rumble outside.

Then the unmistakable cough of an engine older than Tom.

Peter arrives in his thirty-year-old red Volvo — a veteran of antique fairs, border crossings, and logistical miracles.

The warehouse whispers about it when no one is listening:

the wonders this Volvo has transported.

A Cycladic figure.

A Kauri-gum chief.

Oceanic clubs.

A Pre Raphaelite Tapestry.

Once, allegedly, a taxidermy ibis politely secured with a seatbelt.

Today, it carries something with more attitude than all of them combined:

A monumental 19th-century Grand Tour bronze of Augustus signed “A. Rohrich, Roma,”

cuirassed chest, cloak at the waist and over the arm, sceptre in hand,

and small Cupid riding a dolphin — because even emperors appreciate moral support.

The crate opens slowly.

Tom’s jaw opens even slower.

“HE’S HUGE,” Tom breathes.

Jay: “He’s Augustus.”

Peter: “And he’s heavy. Don’t drop Rome, Tom.”

Together — Jay guiding, Tom wobbling, Peter supervising,

and me, Kira, taking position like a seasoned forklift with fur —

we manoeuvre the monumental bronze into place.

Three humans.

One Ridgeback.

One emperor.

At one point Tom whispers, “Is Kira… steering?”

Jay: “She does that.”

Peter: “Better than you. She has the tail end”. Jay groans.

Finally Augustus stands before us, triumphant and magnificent.

Even the Jacquemart dog seems to stand a little taller.

Peter bends down to greet me and gently pulls my ear:

“Hello, old girl.”

I wag twice — dignified, sincere. 

CHAPTER 9 — HUMAN INTERACTION

Jay: “You’re late.”

Peter: “I’m perfectly on time. The Volvo needed encouragement.”

Tom: “We should give it an award.”

Peter: “It has one. Its continued existence.”

CHAPTER 10 — THE TOASTS

Jay: “Merry Christmas.”

Peter: “And Happy Hanukkah, dear boy.” 

Tom raises his glass too high. Jay corrects him.

CHAPTER 11 — THE RIDGEBACK & HER BOY

Tom kneels beside me — cautiously, reverently — and strokes just under my chin.

His hand is warm, unsteady, earnest.

I lean into him, just a fraction.

For a moment —

with Augustus standing tall, the Volvo resting,

Jay laughing with Peter,

the bear enduring, Jacquemart supervising,

and dust turning to gold in the heater’s glow —

everything feels right.

Balanced.

Complete.

Tom whispers, “You’re the best, Kira.”

I nudge his shoulder — Ridgeback for:

“I know. And all is well in the world.”

CHAPTER 12 — CLOSING OBSERVATIONS

The heater hums. Dust turns to gold.

The Fornasetti mandolins appear moved.

The Jacquemart dog supervises.

The Brienz bear endures.

Isis watches with eternal calm.

The Volvo rests outside, proud of another mission.

Jay, Peter, and Tom talk in spirals.

And I — Kira, the Ridgeback — ensure everything and everyone remains in place as I have done for some 11 years.

My muzzle is white now — not from age,

but from experience, observation, and the quiet patience required to supervise the humans I love.

Peter understands this.

His own white touches are the same kind: earned, not accumulated.

Tom has no white muzzle,

but he has the potential for wisdom —

if he keeps standing close enough to learn from us.

And Jay just believes we all need a little mazel in our lives. That’s Yiddish for good fortune. 

So Happy Chanukah and Merry Christmas to you all. Looking forward to magical more adventures in 2026 (which probably means pup sitting our Tom, bless him)

Peace to all

Kira

Faithful Hound of Jay Arenski

Senior Warehouse Inspector

Believer in Spaghetti, Not Fornasetti