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We all have that one singing, dancing, repetitive, now-annoying Christmas decoration.

While shopping, we spotted a whimsical, very amusing, how does it do that, figurine. And it somehow danced and sang its way into our shopping bag. And now we have to live with it every year for a month.

Visitors come over and press the spot on its hand, foot or belly, and it sings a well-known happy Christmas song while dancing about. For us, it's a dog wearing a toque with a bell that rings when its head moves back and forth as it sings "Jingle Bells" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." It's not a visitor playing the dog that causes one of us to say, "If I hear that stupid dog again, I'll go crazy." It's one of the four grandkids.

Each one in succession has feared, tolerated, laughed and appeared unsure of the dog. Around the fourth Christmas, they'd play it over and over and over until you couldn't stand ever again hearing these well-loved carols.

At first, it was fun watching each one on their first Christmas react to the scary dancing dog. Their eyes would get wide, and they'd try to make out exactly what they were seeing. The whole family would gather around to watch their reaction. By their second Christmas, they would laugh a bit and then turn to hug grandpa or grandma. They weren't sure how they felt about it. And because grandpas and grandmas are hug addicts, we would do it over and over again.

By the third Christmas, they'd play with it like it was a hot fire. They'd cautiously squeeze the spot as if were hot, then jump back as it started to dance and sing before laughing their heads off.

While we're introducing the second granddaughter to Jingles (the first granddaughter named him), the first one, who is now four, is burning up two AA batteries playing it over and over and OVER again. By the time our oldest granddaughter is eight, two more grandkids have joined the fold - twin boys who are now three.

We removed the batteries from Jingles that year and lied, yes lied, to our own grandkids that Jingles was broken. I know there must be a special extra hot spot in Hell for grandparents who lie to four grandkids. But I couldn't take another year of Jingles throwing his head back and forth ringing that bell on the end of his toque and singing at the top of his voice "Jingle Bells" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

Our master, Hell-bound plan lasted but one Sunday visit. The next Sunday the well-schooled 8-year-old reasoned that it probably needed new batteries. "Ah, too bad grandpa doesn't have any more AA batteries," I lied again. Pour more coals on the fire.

"No worries," Gabriella sang. "I'll get them from another toy."

What! She can't do that, can she? I didn't see that coming! I would have removed every battery in the house if I thought she'd grasped that knowledge. Or I would have kidnapped old Jingles and hid him under heavy boxes in the garage. Transplanting batteries! Now I could only hope for a AA rejection between toys.

She went through all the battery-operated toys like my wife at a BOGO shoe sale. Toys flew everywhere. She assessed the size of the batteries and wondered if she could live without that toy until stingy, old grandpa got around to buying new batteries. Gabriella and Charlotte (now five) both agreed that the "Little People" castle would still play fine without its two AA batteries.

I hoped they would put them in old Jingles the wrong way. Just mix up the positive and negative sides. That's when their dad, who hasn't done anything around here since he was 16, made the girls aware of the laws of polarity. It was at this point I did something that I'm not proud of. Without thinking, I said that if Gabriella got it working, she could take it home with her.

I have now ruined the boys' Christmas for all eternity with this singing blight of a decoration. More coals on my fire.

But my problem was solved. No more Jingles!

Since my wife was now short one decoration, she went out and bought this ever-so-cute snowman surrounded by kittens that perform a squeaky sing-song version of "Frosty the Snowman." The grandkids just love it!

- Bob Niles

Bob Niles, who answers to Robert, Bobby, Dad, Grandpa, Unit No.2 (his Dad could never remember all the children's names), honey and super hero, is new to writing but not to storytelling. "I like to make people laugh and to think, with a secret desire make them dance and send me untraceable $100 bills in the mail," says the happily married, retired father and grandpa from Richmond in British Columbia, Canada. He blogs here.