Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the boat,
We slept like two babes, still happily afloat.
The stockings were hung on the lifelines with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
Both Barrett and I, nestled snug in our berth,
With visions of rum, scuba, fishing, and mirth.
He with his power tools, and I with my knives,
Had lost just a bit of patience, waiting to start the trip of our lives.
When out on the deck there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from the berth to see what was the matter.
Away to the forward cabin, we flew like some rookies,
Tore open the hatches, tossed up a few cookies.
The moon on the bayou, the hot humid night,
It felt like the tropics without any light,
When what to our wondering eyes showed just later,
But a jingle bell collar on a single fat gator.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Fixed our GPS and radar, then turned with a jerk;
Next was a thump from his tail and a lick on my face,
Ah! We’d mistaken pour Bourré for a gator in haste!
He sprang from the deck with my short sharp whistle,
And through the forward hatch he flew like the down of a thistle.
Now we’re all back in the aft berth tucked safe out of sight,
But want to wish you a Happy Christmas, and to all a goodnight.