Our dog Abbey has very intense feelings about lights of the flashlight, laser pointer, reflection variety. Not being privy to the inner workings of her mind, we aren't entirely sure whether those intense feelings are deep love or obsessive hatred, but lights certainly get her attention and make her quiver with fixation. Every year when we get Christmas lights out and start to string them on the tree, she barrels in to the middle of things and stares them down, somehow mysteriously compelled by their twinkly glow. See, here's last year's picture.
Actually, this year her reaction to the Christmas lights was a bit slower, a bit more doddering. Looking at that picture from last year makes me realize how much she has aged in the past year. Abbey is 9 years old now, and is of a breed that lives an average of 8-10 years. Up until a few months ago, I would have said she seemed like herself and was doing great, but lately she has just been aging before our eyes, slowing down and losing muscle tone in her face (crazy droopy eyes!) and seeming really old. She is such a sweet good dog still; I hope she enjoys a very long winter of her life.
She wasn't the only one to play with the lights. Every year while putting up the tree, from sometime in my early teens, I like to take pictures all tangled up in the Christmas lights. I have them with my sister in high school (sadly not digital, of course), as a newlywed with Rob, pregnant, and now, I get to inflict my will upon my innocent children. BWA HA HA HA. Being a parent is awesome.