The specifics have been blurred by time. I can't remember exactly how old I was or what the weather was like outside. I can't remember any other presents I got or all the dishes Grandmother cooked for lunch that day.

All I remember was waking up to a puppy licking my face. His was a beagle named Regal Beagle—guess I was a big fan of “Three's Company”—and I loved that dog more than anything in the world.

Don't worry, this isn't a “Where the Red Fern Grows”-type, coming-of-age tale. I remember Regal Beagle fondly, if a bit murkily, and seem to think he lived a long, happy life on my grandparents' farm, where he got to run and chase after all sorts of critters.

It was his arrival that always stuck with me. Regal Beagle was a Christmas puppy plopped onto my bed by Santa Claus himself. I know, because I heard the door slam sometime around sunrise and felt the cold nose of a puppy rooting around under the covers. It was the happiest Christmas of my life.

Well, the year I got the KISS “Love Gun World Tour” board game was pretty “rad”, and then there was the Christmas that I got the Red Ryder BB Gun with a compass in the stock even though everyone told me I'd shoot my eye out … Oh, wait that was Ralphie from “A Christmas Story”. The only BB gun I ever had come from my dad and, after shooting up Granny's favorite outdoor flowerpot despite repeatedly being told not to, that sucker disappeared faster than snow in the South. There was the one year when mom caught me trying to get an early sneak peek at my presents and promised to return them all, only to hide everything in her truck for three weeks.

I come from a small, loving family. But we were pretty low-key when it came to traditions. I mean, we had the tree and the turkey and the presents but there wasn't anything specific to us, which is why it's the gifts I remember most—that and I suffer from a terrible case of arrested development and just like getting stuff. So I always figured that when I had kids, those traditions would just magically happen.

Not so much. The only magic has come from those fantastic credit card charges that start rolling in around right after New Year's. And that's why we have Dio. He's a Magic Elf that comes down from the North Pole to keep an eye on Jellybean, making sure she's a good girl. Dio then flies back every night and reports back to Santa Claus.

Some of these elves are mischievous. I heard of one that took all the decorations off the tree and hung them in a child's bedroom. Dio is more of a slacker elf. He's real laid back. Rather than wreaking havoc, he'd rather chill out and hang from light fixtures.

Every morning, Jellybean gets up and wanders around the house looking for Dio. Then she shares her breakfast of cheese grits with him before going about her business, leaving me alone all day with Dio. I have to say, little dude is creepy lookin' with those wild, staring eyes. He makes me worried about what he might tell the Big Guy up North about me.

But please Santa, no more puppies. All I want for Christmas is a few more memories to last a lifetime. And maybe that BB gun.