One of my fondest memories took place a few years ago, when we decided to cut down a pine tree in our yard for our Christmas tree. It was like a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting: my husband walking through the snow holding a saw, and our three daughters (Christine, age eight, Suzanne and Jackie, both four) all bundled up following him. They were all triumphant as they set up the tree in our family room, and than we set about decorating it.

After we strung long garlands of popcorn and cranberries and hung them in place, we left the room to search for all the ornaments. When we returned, we found the popcorn from the garlands all over the floor. We thought our golden retriever had been eating it, so we swept up the mess and added more strings of popcorn in the bare spots. Then we put the dog outside and continued our search for the ornaments.

We returned to find another popcorn mess on the floor. It couldn't have been the dog. He was outside! Suddenly, our tree exploded with life as a baby squirrel--the real culprit--bolted from the branches. It raced around the room and tried to climb up the walls, with the girls screaming and the dog barking outside. We finally opened the windows and removed the screens so the creature could make its way out. I felt so bad for punishing the dog for something he didn't do. Still, we laugh about this every year as we set up our tree.

--Linda Rohr, Kingston, Massachusetts