One should always be a little improbable.
Oscar Wilde

Every New Year's Eve, I leave my dogs at home and go out to inebriate, celebrate and act like an idiot, but last year I decided I would treat them to the fun and excitement of the party.

My friends know how to celebrate. They dress in costumes so extreme that one cannot tell if the living thing asking him to dance is animal, mineral or pure decadence wearing Revlon. The year before, I opened the door and thought I had taken a wrong turn and landed in Kenya. Tigers in business suits, lions in high heels and rabbits big as Harvey pranced on the stained rug, holding high balls and smoking a variety of illegal substances. Butterflies in mink drank Bloody Mary's; elephants with velvet ribbons gorged on watermelon balls; and several varieties of extraterrestrials with a rainbow of antennae sampled the meatball dip devouring ball, sauce and toothpick. The floor was spotted with spilled drink, ashes and fallen creatures, too inebriated to stand at the table.

But what a table! It was packed with slabs of meat, charred and barbecued, prawns circling little bowls of dip, rich in butter, sour creams and eggs and pastries imported from Brauer's Kosher Delicatessen. The bartender looked like a perpetual motion machine and the guests were so polluted that the place felt like a Roman banquet gone bad. My pets and I would fit right in.

So it was that last year I dressed Dorothy in a blue tutu, a straw hat with flowers and glittering golden booties to cover her paws. Amy is an independent woman. Although she stands barely 8 inches from the floor and weighs in at 6 pounds soaking wet, her tail has a magnificent swirl to it and her combination Yorkie ringlets and Pomeranian fluff makes her look like a weasel on a bad hair day. I decided she needed no costume to enhance her striking natural attire. I put my poodle Donald in a tuxedo and I thought he looked far more dapper than my first husband that fateful day when we tied the knot that destroyed me for two miserable years. I resurrected my wedding gown, draped a veil over my hair and Donald over my arm and off we went to welcome in 2007.

We entered the ballroom when the gala was in full swing. Once more, my neighbors and friends were well on the way to a land far beyond the other side of any moon I had ever seen. The air was thick with smoke, food littered the floor, empty glasses sat on tables and chairs, hid under coats, perched on widow sills and tottered in the book case. As soon as we entered, a creature dressed like a dragon from Oz screamed and pointed to Amy. 'WATCH OUT!" it cried. "A WOLF HAS ESCAPED FROM ALCATRAZ!"

Amy walked past her accuser, head held high and tucked into a plate of canapés someone had abandoned on the floor. I hastened to reassure the keening dragon who was standing on the piano holding its tail in its mouth. I barely managed two steps when a hippopotamus grabbed me by my veil and shouted, "Myrtle , you have returned from Colma!"

This was more than Donald could endure. He bared his teeny teeth and growled ominously, but no one heard him. A Martian transvestite grabbed Dorothy and cried, "Darling! What a marvelous costume! If I didn't know better I would swear you were Maltese. WHERE did you find that fur?"

Dorothy was so shocked she barfed on his spiked heels and he ducked behind the couch with a bottle of vodka, Top Job and a sponge.

I surveyed the bacchanal before me. One unique, purple spotted antelope was crying inconsolably into her cheese cake waving her fork like a baton while three beavers sang "Ta, Ra, Ra boom tee Aye," to the tune of Ave Maria.

Suddenly, there was a hush. The clock struck twelve and every living thing that could still stand ran outside to light firecrackers and sing Auld Lang Syne.

Dorothy's hat was tilted, her skirt torn and she looked like she had been raped by a tractor. Donald's tie was askew; he had whipped cream on his nose and was munching a roast beef bone with a paper frill. Amy's hair stiffened to porcupine proportions. She lifted her dainty feet to avoid stepping on broken glass and stared me down as if I were dust.

My bridal dress looked like it had been tie dyed with caviar, blueberry jam and pomegranate eggnog, my shoe lost a heel while trying to avoid stepping into a jello mold and my veil was history. We all had had enough.

I returned home with my dilapidated family, cleaned them up as best I could and gave each of them a pointed hat and a frosted dog biscuit. "Happy New Year, Darlings!" I said. "WHAT an evening!"

Dorothy was sound asleep curled around her rubber ducky; Donald was out cold on his pillow and Amy quivered with indignation. My head felt like it was five times its size and my eyes could barely distinguish my bed from theirs.

This year, we will welcome 2008 with a paper tearing party and call it a night.