By this time in elementary school, paper chain-making would begin.

These were not beautiful color-sequenced Pinterest-worthy garlands. Instead, they were constructed from odd colors of faded construction paper, haphazardly cut and held together with delicious mint-flavored white paste. Each link was a countdown to Christmas. I don’t remember this project taking place on any specific day, just like there wasn’t a classroom objective or a required pattern of hues. Looking back, I suspect that the intent was to keep kids busy by using soon-to-be discarded paper. Nevertheless, bringing the paper chain home and thumb-tacking it to my bedroom wall was a cherished event. Even if I frequently forgot to remove a link off the chain, its presence was a promise of what was to come.

While I was vaguely aware of Advent growing up, it was a church thing. I never saw an Advent calendar until my teens. Even then, it was a simple affair: a beautifully decorated cardstock poster with doors for each day. A drawing peeked out from each opened hatch. The blue and gold hues were exotic, and the pictures were vaguely Eastern European. I loved it because it seemed like a more grown-up version of the paper chain.

The Christmas countdown re-entered my life about 20 years ago when Chloe, our oldest, saw a sock calendar in a family magazine. Twenty-four socks for 24 days. Each day a new treat would be discovered in the sock, and every two days a family member would have a new pair. Of course, the magazine picture showed nothing but Christmas socks, carefully placed on a festive cord — all very symmetrical and decorative.

For the first year, the Peer family’s display may have looked that way. After all, we had plenty of little feet that fit into dollar-store socks. Ultimately, though, how much Christmas hosiery does a person need? As our socks have become more practical, our calendar now resembles a clothesline. Visitors have quietly pulled my kids aside and asked why we have laundry hanging in the dining room. Martha Stewart, I am not.

The treats have changed too. Early on, Christmas stickers, tattoos and puffy peppermints filled the hosiery. Sometimes even a Christmas joke would suffice. Gems like “What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire? Frostbite,” might be the daily reward. Now car air fresheners, lip balm and packs of gum are our stock in trade. I’ll freely admit, my jokes are no longer appreciated.

In the interim, Advent calendars have become ubiquitous. Almost all have some treat attached: chocolate, cheese or alcohol. Some of the offerings seem a bit odd. Since when is hot sauce a holiday flavor? But the weirdest offering is the Christmas Countdown Calendar with action figures, weapons and gear. Miniature machine guns on Christmas Eve? Spiritual or secular, this seems to be the antithesis of the season’s hopeful, joyful and peaceful intentions.

In light of this commercialism, it shouldn’t have been a surprise when, during grocery shopping, Phoebe called out, “Hey mom, they have Advent calendars for dogs!”

Sure enough, there was a paw print-festooned cardboard calendar with chicken-flavored treats behind each door.

“We don’t need it.”

“Bailey would like it.” Even as she said it, Phoebe laughed.

Maybe Bailey would, but I don’t think she harbors any great excitement for the coming of Christmas. She is already put out that a tree is standing where her dog bed belongs.

While I love my dog, I am profoundly clear that Bailey isn’t human, even if she is not. I routinely resist Halloween costumes, Valentine’s Day presents, and now, Advent calendars. I did get sucked into buying Pumpkin Spice Latte Dog Biscuits a few weeks ago because they were on clearance. After all, a bargain is a bargain.

And Bailey’s opinion of these trendy treats?

Day one: she sniffed and ate the biscuit.

Day Two: with a shake of her head, she rejected every other treat until the Pumpkin Spice Latte Biscuit was offered.

That brief exposure transformed Bailey from my goofy mutt to a latte-loving diva. If a dog treat could cause that change, what would a calendar do?

For now, I will resist the urge to find out. Instead, I will include her favorite treat in the sock each morning until Christmas.

And in a nod to her newfound taste, as I hand her the biscuit, I will wish my hound gourmand, “Bone-Appetit.”