When Good Nutcrackers Go Bad

Three years ago we had a flood in our basement that ruined all the Christmas decorations I had packed in cardboard boxes rather than rubber totes.  Stuffed things and the nutcracker collection.  Ironically, the only fellow that I remember surviving that flood was the little guy in the red coat and blue hat.  He’s the first one I was ever given, from Germany. 

Since then, other nutcrackers have wandered into the house from friends and family on a regular basis.  That tall guy in the crown is the haunted one.  I don’t remember where he came from.  He isn’t even especially old.  When I pulled him out of the packing box this season, his head was disconnected from his body, so I popped it back on.  Since then he’s also managed to lose the tip of his nose even though no human ever moves him from his place on the sideboard.  This morning, when I once again found him like this:

I noticed a chip on his shoulder.

I make my primary living as an accountant, for pete’s sake, I’m a logical person.  My first thought was the grandgirls.  Turning a nutcracker to look at a Christmas tree is something  little girls would do.  But we find him this way even when the grandgirls aren’t here.  I ruled out Pap or Princess yanking my chain when he fell right off the cabinet while I was sitting in the room, minding my own business (smoking) slaving away on an editing job. 

He’s packed in there pretty good, so that rules out the fat cats (all the nutcrackers would be in a muddle on the floor) or even my fearsome dog.  Its a perplexing mystery this mobile nutcracker. Where does he go?  Assuming he must GO somewhere to keep losing these bits and pieces of himself, in addition to being turned away from his assigned place.  Scarier… what is he doing when he’s out getting himself scared up?  Curioser, and curioser…