Another tale of Christmas past

As I explained in yesterday's blip, Santa Claus did not feature in my early years so the image bottom right here was not a familiar one to me. Hence the following sorry tale.

By my sixth Christmas we had moved from the small isolated farmhouse mentioned previously, to a smarter, grace-and-favour dwelling that my mother had wangled (she was good at that) via a notional connection with a relative of the titled lady who owned it. It wasn't an ideal billet as it had a large garden my father was obliged to keep trim (he was only interested in growing veg) and lawns that he had to mow. He was not at all happy either at kowtowing to a daughter of an ennobled industrialist when his own Russian pedigree stretched back generations.

Anyway, at Christmas time Lady Muck threw a party for the children of her estate workers and tenants. I was included and my mother took me along to the big house where a huge table was spread with biscuits, cakes and jelly, and games were organised in a carpeted drawing room where the armchairs seemed enormous.
Then we were all told to Hush! Father Christmas was coming... Everyone crowded to the window as hooves clattered and bells tinkled outside. I couldn't see but I think a pony-trap drew up.  Then,  a portly white-bearded old retainer gent dressed in red entered the room with a bulging sack. Ho-ho-ho, line up for your presents! A queue formed but it did not include me. Notoriously shy, I panicked and clung to my mother. She tried to reassure me but no, I would not leave the safety of her side. Look, she said, there's Peter (naming a friend's brother) Why don't you go and stand next to him and hold his hand?  Even at that tender age I would never consider such a cringeworthy ploy (and still can't believe my mother suggested it - for ears of others?) In the face of my melt-down she extracted me from the party and we made our way home, to her embarrassment and my relief.

Two days later my gift from Santa was delivered. It was a toy dog, white with a red collar and black nose. I liked it. But  after a few days I left it too close to the hearth and the nose melted, ran down the dog's chest and set hard. It was ruined. I couldn't bear to look at it. For years it remained hidden deep in my toy box, an untouchable. 
Santa's revenge?