Marmaduke responds to a jug-eared, clap-happy dipshit's entreaty to fetch a stick with either a massive yawn (which is how he signifies his boredom) or a blood-curdling scream (which is how he pumps himself up for a round of stick-fetching). Marmaduke's owner-man responds to said jug-eared, clap-happy dipshit's entreaty with a hint regarding the futility of the ridiculous little man's enthusiasm.

Marmaduke is trying to decorate his owner-family's Christmas tree with a bunch of his dog bullshit. Owner-Lady declines his "help" with as much diplomacy as she can muster.

Marmaduke is a frotteur.

Marmaduke is an asshole.

Marmaduke receives oversized Christmas cards from the marketing arms of Woofs, Barfoo, and several other popular dog food conglomerates every year (in addition to numerous other seasonal greetings from unknown, possibly non-corporate acquaintances). He then displays said cards on the outside of his doghouse, primarily to fuck with his owner-couple, who are virtually friendless after years of Marmaduke's arbitrary rampages.

Marmaduke is plotting a bit of quaint, 1940s-level yuletide date rape.