Here’s what happens when you put the dog in charge of holiday greetings–


Dear Bipeds,

Holiday Greetings from Occupation Leonard Street. In the interest of full disclosure, please note that these words spring from the heart and mind of me, Girdie the wonder puggle, and not Norm the master as he was too damn lazy to write his own holiday letter. “Sit, Girdie,” he says. “Stay! Roll over! Don’t eat that diaper! Write the holiday letter!” Christ, you think life’s a bitch? Try being a bitch; that’s the real bitch. Anyhow, let’s get on with the annual update of the Leonard Dynasty.

Though the economy be bad, the Leonard clan enjoys a life of plenty. At least I assume as much given how many times they’ve sprung for my “procedure.” For Pete’s sake, you scoot one time on the down comforter and you get stuck with quarterly visits to a groomer who knows not the meaning of gentle, if you get my drift.

As far as I can tell, the marriage appears to be going well. Master Norm and Mistress Becky kiss and hug and utter “I love you” often enough, and they seem to be sincere. That said, they haven’t sniffed each other’s butts once in the last year. Just sayin’. Mistress Becky has taken on a new challenge this year, working as a doula and a lactation educator. I’m not exactly sure what it all entails. All I can tell you is that she returns home smelling of adrenaline, estrogen, afterbirth, and vernix, so you’ll hear no complaints from me. Master Norm is still teaching, still writing, and still looking for every opportunity to capitalize on inappropriate humor. On that note, I’ve been instructed to remind everyone of the 2007 Leonard Dynasty Holiday Letter when Master Norm jested that Mistress Becky, then nursing their first born child, was planning to open an internet company at the following web address: Here we are, four years later, and Mistress Becky (along with her business partner, Michelle Roberts) has opened, which is a similar – albeit much classier – version of Master Norm’s original inappropriate conjecture.

Moving on now to the pups. Charlee Marie has had a big year. The big girl bed. Graduation to “big girl” panties. Pre-school. Milestone after milestone, all of which she celebrates with seventy-nine verses of whichever Disney Princess movie she happened to watch that week. In November alone, she sang “Beauty and the Beast” 347 times. That’s about  full day of singing, a week in dog years. That’s an entire week of my life. If I haven’t already mentioned it, I’m putting myself up for adoption (Hint, hint Grandma Sally…)

And then there’s Sam “Sammers” Cash. He’s walking; he’s talking. Putting words together, making sentences. He can say mama, dada, mine, me too, mine, love you, mine, hell yeah, mine, peanuts (his version of penis), mine, quotidian, mine, and other multi-syllabic words. Not that it’s all that impressive. I’ve been speaking as long as I can remember. Granted, my oral vocabulary is fairly one-dimensional – Arf, Woof, Bark, and so on – but what do you expect? They fit me for a bark collar, robbed me of my voice. Where’s my canine suffrage? Can I get some equal rights up in this mother grabber?!

As for me, my year has been status quo. My only highlight is forthcoming. I’m posing for canine porn, a new offshoot of Aunt Norma’s already flourishing porn empire. Look for me. I’ll be Miss January of “BILF” magazine (that’s like MILF but with a B, figure it out). Sadly, my dreams of posing for “Bitches in Heat” were dashed long ago, a contractual obligation of my adoption… it’s a long, depressing story.

Happy Holidays! ARF-er-ar-ar-ar-ar-ar-arrrrrrrr…….. (god damn bark collar!)

Dear All,


Many apologies for the tardiness of this letter. Several drafts were undertaken, all of which were heavily censored with a black Magic Marker in the style of classified CIA JFK assassination documents, so much so that they appeared as nothing more than a greeting, several dozen horizontal black bars, and finally a farewell. Apparently my definition of an appropriate holiday epistle varies slightly from that of my better half’s. If you care to see the earlier drafts, please mail a written request, care of Norman Leonard, and I will gladly forward you said documents. In the spirit of keeping the peace, here is the sanitized edition:


Mark another great year for the Leonard Dynasty! On February 7th, we welcomed Samuel Cash Leonard into the bosom of our family. He immediately lived up to the controversial figures that are his namesakes (Samuel Clemens and Johnny Cash) when three neonatal nurses passed out at the sight of his manliness. On second thought, we should have named him after George Thorogood because Sam is Bad to the Boner (no, not a typo). We might also have named him after Barrack Obama as Sam has proven himself to be big on change. Not even a year old and he has dedicated himself to changing the tide of modern style by doing away with the plague that is skinny jeans. All of you silly little Emo folk should be afraid – very afraid.  Sam’s comin’ for ya.


And now on to Charlee who has had a somewhat tumultuous year; however, she’ll be the first to tell you that the most difficult part was admitting she had a problem. December makes it sixth months clean and sober for this tyke. She has helped herself to neither a binky nor a ba-ba,  and she’s made peace with the 12-Step philosophy – one day at a time, brothers and sisters, one day at a time.


For all the haters out there, I’d like to brag on my wife for a moment. Less than a year after Sam nearly tore Becky in two, she is back down to her pre-baby weight, and I couldn’t be more proud. Her hips are slim, her boobs are ridin’ high, and her butt fits nicely into all of her pre-pregnancy jeans. Because of this swift, enigmatic return to her figure, she has been made the subject of a study on gerontology and anti-gravity, a joint effort between NASA and AARP. Makes a husband proud.


Our dog Girdie continues to struggle with matters of the heart. After a long and torrid affair with a mutt named Armani that vaguely resembles a rat, she sank into a desperate bout of depression, self medicating with dirty diapers and kitty roca (Note: to the neighbor who owns the obese tabby cat that looks like Joan Rivers, please do not allow your felonious feline to drop trou directly outside our door). Just recently, however, Girdie picked up on a scent at the park, which she believes belongs to her one true love. At her request, I am including a description of the scent, so if any of you have ever smelled the south end of a dog that evokes the fragrance of “a port-a-potty on a hot day in Juarez with a subtle hint of pickled herring and deep-fried deviled eggs,” please let him know that his one true love is keeping a crate warm for him in Lake Forest, California.


As for me, things have been status quo. If I were to report anything, it would have to be my vasectomy, only because of its undeniable effect on our economy. You see, the day after my vasectomy the NASDAQ posted its biggest loss of the year. Who knew my vas deferens played such an important role in the United States finances? Oh, well. I’m sure our national wealth will recover just as quickly as did my testicles.


Happy Holidays!

The Leonard Dynasty

P.S. A quick update on the exploits of the Huckabees — my Aunt Norma and Uncle Chuck: the third nipple was not a nipple but a skin carbuncle. Rotten luck.

P.P.S. For those who have been asking about the professional exploits of my Aunt Norma: her internet porn empire continues to flourish. Brian Schnurle, I know you’ve asked, and since I’ve already dished out the money for the stamp, I’ll just answer your questions here:

Dear Friends, Family, and Obligatory Recipients (you know who you are):

Greeting from the Leonard family. I shall now regale you with anecdotal updates to demonstrate that the inner life of our family is richer than that of yours. We’ll start with Charlee. She’s had a productive year. She’s talking now (in three different languages), she’s engaged in academic discourse (in three different disciplines), and just last month she saved the lives of dozens of people during a structure fire (men, women, and children). However, all of these feats pale in comparison to Charlee’s contributions to equality. She has spent the last year laboring over a contraption that will finally close the gap between the sexes – a device that will finally allow women to pee standing up. The irony of it all: she’s not even potty-trained.

Our puggle, Girdie, is potty-trained, but that is one skill set that is likely to soon wane as she is currently struggling with old age. Gray whiskers are peppering her muzzle, and that spring in her step is less a spring and more a grinding, rusty gear. No matter, she’s not one to take old age lying down. Actually, that’s just an expression, and she’d like all of you to know that she does indeed lie down several times a week – with her lover, Armani, a lap dog mutt and her cousin-by-marriage. While Girdie’s love life is bountiful, she has found it necessary to supplement (i.e., lubricate) her romantic exploits for comfort’s sake. Ultimately, however, this has worked out well and even inspired an entrepreneurial pursuit. Certainly you’ve all heard of K-Y Jelly. Well, if Girdie has her druthers, next year Petco and Petsmart will be slinging a new product –  K-9 Jelly!  For all your breeding needs.

Speaking of breeding, the pregnancy is going fantastic. In case you didn’t know (and if you didn’t know, it’s probably because we place little value on your place in our lives), we are expecting in February. And we’re expecting big things. In fact, our expectations have already been confirmed by the ultrasound technician who, during our appointment, exclaimed, “Your son has a big thing!” That’s right, our little man is ALL man. God bless genetics.

Becky is in tremendous shape, and I couldn’t be more proud. A few weeks ago at the bar, she knocked back a few pitchers over a quick game of eight ball. Some roughneck tried to give her grief, whining about the dangers of alcohol and pregnancy and blah, blah, blah. Tell ya what, his argument sort of fell apart after Becky threw a right cross and laid him out; and when he didn’t get back up, she drank his beer. Not much of a chin on that fella. I’d bet my bottom dollar that his mom didn’t drink beer while he was in utero. That would certainly account for his namby-pamby demeanor.

As for me, it’s been a fairly uneventful year. Same old, same old, as the saying goes. Only a couple things stand out as significant and noteworthy: I completed 1,000 hours of volunteer work for the Peace Corps, and I killed a man. With my bare hands.

Happy Holidays!

The Leonard Family

P.S. A quick update on the exploits of my Aunt Norma: She and her husband Chuck (my uncle) – married many years now – have entered the twilight of their marriage. Many will tell you that it’s difficult to keep a marriage infused with romance and élan for so long, but they’ve managed to make it work, thanks in part to a discovery made earlier this year: Uncle Chuck has a third nipple. And let me tell you, brothers and sisters, there’s nothing like a third nipple to rekindle the flame.

P.P.S. Another update on the exploits of my Aunt Norma: her internet porn empire continues to flourish.

From the archives, circa 2008:

Greetings Family, Friends, and Loved Ones!

Well, 2008 is indeed coming to a miraculous close: a black man is waiting to set up shop in the White House; gasoline is inching back to a reasonable price, and our daughter Charlee is being investigated by the office of the Devil’s Advocate from the Vatican. Indeed, a bishop is being sent to our home after the first of the year to verify a real-live, honest-injun, genuine miracle. Let me explain. Not but a few weeks ago, I was changing Charlee’s diaper, and upon unfastening the handy-dandy velcro straps, I was stunned to find that there was a religious image in Charlee’s pooh. It was neither Jesus nor the mother Mary, for Charlee — even at a mere seven-months — is savvy enough to know that divine figures of such high caliber do not pop up in fecal matter. But Judas Iscariot does. That’s right — Judas Iscariot.  Once a turd, always a turd, I suppose. Some parents might be reluctant to appreciate a baby who moves her bowels in the image of such a traitor. But not us. We’re beaming, infinitely proud that Charlee has such a solid understanding of figures in the Bible (well, not solid — it was actually a bit runny; we’d just introduced squash the previous week and, well, a story for another time, perhaps). We’re expecting big things from this kid, folks.

As for Becky, she’s also coming off a big year as she’s just put the necessary pieces in play to begin her own business. It started when we were entertaining guests (who shall remain anonymous, but yes, it could be you). Becky had prepared a delectable dinner for our friends, and she had a dessert planned as well. As luck would have it, however, Becky forgot to buy milk, a necessary ingredient for the planned pastry dish, and — ever the resourceful one — she strapped on her breast pump and eked out a cup and half of frothy mother’s milk. Three-hundred fifty degrees and a half-an-hour later, Becky had baked a cake to beat the band. Since then, she’s designed an ideal business without overhead, save for electricity it takes to run a breast pump. All interested customers, please visit

Because Charlee and Becky have our family covered on the religious and financial fronts, respectively, I’ve chosen to try my hand at politics. I think I can speak for everybody when I say I was nothing if not inspired by the recent elections. I didn’t realize how much foreign policy experience I have. To wit: I have successfully navigated The Home Depot and negotiated with entire teams of men to periodically work in my parents’ yard. Added to this, I know all the words to “La Bamba,” and I can order food and beer confidently at a number of Tijuana hot spots without fear of acquiring Montezuma’s Revenge or crabs. I’m practically the Mexican ambassador. Needless to say, ya’ll should look for my name on the ticket in 2012. Norm Leonard — A New America — I reckon so.

Putting political futures aside, I think it necessary to report on the present progress of Girdie, our family dog; many of you have inquired as to the progress and success of her sex change. Well, she literally and figuratively jumped through the necessary hoops (there were copious amounts of red tape, you know), and her operation was indeed a triumph. Having discarded the identity of bitch, she’s currently adjusting to the life of a male dog. Her transformation got off to a wonderful start when, during an afternoon romp at the bark park, she met a mutt bitch named Nookie whom she promptly mounted, thereby consummating her new gender role. Of course, a pack of the meaner, bigger dogs at the bark park — a pit bull, a pair of rottweilers, and a mastiff named Lincoln — gave Girdie and her bitch, Nookie, a difficult time. It just goes to show that macho insecurity not only crosses cultures but species, too. Not to worry. Girdie was brave enough to ditch her bitch-dom; she’ll weather this storm as well.

Well, that does it for our Holiday update. Until next season, a blessing on your homes!

Norm, Becky, Charlee, and Girdie

P.S. We wanted to send a quick X-mas shout-out to Aunt Norma Jean in Washington State. She retired not long ago, but she’s refused to become a simple spectator of life. Indeed, she’s embracing the best of today, namely technology and the current sexual revolution. In fact, she’s tackled both technology and sexuality and turned them into a fairly successful day job. We ask that our friends and family join us in supporting our Aunt Norma Jean and her sexual exploits. Please Google the following: Aunt Norma Jean Nail’s the Northwest. Any number of sites will pop up which will allow you to download her webcast pornography (volumes 1-47). We couldn’t be more proud of you, Aunt Norma! Go get ‘em!

Been a while since I last posted. The fall season was, well, a bitch. No other way to say it. But  the holidays are hurtling toward us, and to commemorate them — as well as the fact that life is easing up — I’ve dug into the archives. Enjoy!

***The Norm Leonard Pass at the Traditional Holiday Letter — 2007***

Being a novice to this form of epistolary communication, I’ll resign myself to speaking from the heart. I’ll start with my wife, Becky. She has had an exciting year, having infiltrated her second terrorist organization. By her estimation, she should be all set to completely deconstruct the infrastructure in the name of Christ our Lord. That’ll show Satan, that wily devil. Meanwhile, sunshine continues to spill from her backside.

Speaking of bodily orifices, our new daughter, Charlee Marie, (currently six months in utero at the time of this letter’s construction) is tirelessly preparing for her dismount from the womb. Her body control is precise, and we’re confident that she’ll earn perfect 10s across the board—save for the Russians. We think they’ll turn their noses at our American fetus’s outright excellence and score her a 9.5 out of spite. Damn those Sputnik bastards!

On another positive note, the final member of our family—Girdie, the wonder puggle—has finally saved enough for her sex change operation. She has lived her first three-and-a-half years as a bitch but maintains that she’s always been a male in a bitch’s body. For those who are wondering, Becky and I completely support her decision. We just want her to be happy.

As for myself, I have dedicated my time and thoughts to politics. I shall not be backing Hillary or Obama or Giuliani or Ron Paul or Mitt Romney or any other tired political troglodyte. Instead I will be launching my mother as a write-in candidate (though she doesn’t know it). There is no method to this line of reasoning. I merely think it would be fun to watch people call my mom “Madame President”.

Tune in next time when we dig into the 2008 archives!