by Emma Kragen
On Coach’s cue, Mrs. Stevens filled the room with the introduction to “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Emma parted the curtains and walked out onto the stage. She was not nervous—she was determined.
“No one really knows for sure where the song ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ came from. Some believe it is over four hundred years old. But our program tonight is not about the twelve days of Christmas.” Then Stephanie from the third grade came out with a small piece of cardboard that she affixed over the word days on the sign. On it was the word dogs.
“It is about the gift of friendship,” Emma continued. “Friendship is what makes a town like ours so wonderful.” Her puppy then came out on stage, and Emma kneeled to hold and pet it. “But some of our best friends are not welcomed here. So we thought you should get to know our friends and see why we love them so much. And, well, maybe you will learn to love them as well.”
Emma went back behind the curtain, followed by the puppy. The music swelled, the curtains opened, and the audience was greeted by a beautiful, multilevel set depicting a fireplace that, oddly, had a doghouse on top of it. It was Max’s doghouse, and inside was Max. Standing next to him was Miranda’s six-year-old sister, Amanda (the sisters collectively known as the Andas). If Miranda was the smartest kid in school, certainly Amanda was the most adorable. On either side of the doghouse was a chorus of kids in white gowns with gold tinsel crowns. Large snowflakes hung from the rafters, and the audience sat with their mouths open in delight.
What am I doing here with all these kids? Max thought. What is happening? Max looked out at all the people. Is Mr. Whiteside out there? he wondered. I don’t see him. Oh—they’re singing. “ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME.” The little girl started petting him. “Good boy, Max. Are you ever gonna come out of the doghouse? A POODLE IN A DOGHOUSE!”
The audience laughed, and more than one of the women said, “Oh, how cute!” Then out of the fireplace emerged two large St. Bernards being led on leashes by boys. “ON THE SECOND DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME,” the chorus sang, “TWO ST. BERNARDS.” Then Amanda sang out, “AND A POODLE IN A DOGHOUSE!”
And so it went, through “THREE COCKER SPANIELS,” and “FOUR BASSETT HOUNDS,” and the drawn out, and beautifully sung, FIIIIVE GOLD-DEN RETRIEVERS,” all illustrated by bringing onto the stage the numerically correct amount of each breed, who were led to green and red steps, and each time punctuated by Amanda’s solo of “AND A POODLE IN A DOGHOUSE!” Then up the aisle, among the audience, six fine Boxers were led to the stage while the chorus sang, “SIX BOXERS BOXING!”
The audience, except possibly for Mayor Doyle, was delighted and, unfortunately, unaware that tragedy loomed. For Dogcatcher Doyle was skulking backstage looking for mischief to make. He snuck a peek of the stage just as they were singing, “SEVEN HUSKIES HOWLING!” and almost became sick to his stomach over the sight of all those illegal dogs bringing joy to people. Something had to be done. He looked around and found waiting, unattended in one corner, some dogs tied up and some in cages, numbering twelve. They were not of any matched breed but were, indeed, the climax of the show, for they were to be the TWELVE MUTTS A-MARCHING. Norman did not know this, of course, but he knew they wouldn’t be there if they weren’t important. So he let them go. He untied the tied ones, and uncaged the caged ones, and shooed them out of the theater to the strains of “EIGHT SHEEPDOGS SNORING!” and his own cackling laugh.
On stage there were now NINE CHIHUAHUAS CHOMPING in the laps of nine gaily dressed kindergartners. Then the music changed to hints from the Nutcracker, and out of the fireplace came ten ballerinas, led by Miranda, followed by ten Dalmatians as the chorus sang, “TEN DALMATIANS DANCING.”
Emma watched offstage, thrilled that it was all going well, and that the audience was responding. Maybe many small changes were happening in many large hearts right now. But as eleven Chocolate Lab puppies were being brought on stage and the kids sang, “ELEVEN LABS A-LAUGHING,” in her ear came an urgent, “Emma, all the dogs for the twelfth day ran away!” At first Emma didn’t believe the stagehand, but he insisted, so she went backstage to see for herself and found Norman standing there, a gleeful grin on his face and old Scratch in his arms.
“Oh, looking for the doggies?” Norman taunted just as Emma could hear, “ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME—” And then the music stopped, and she could hear the buzz of the audience as nothing numbering twelve happened. “On the twelfth day of Christmas,” Norman sang, rather badly, “my true love gave to me—ab-so-lute-ly no doggies!”
In the assembly hall the audience was perplexed, Mrs. Walsh was consternated, and the mayor was delighted. Mrs. Stevens wondered what had happened, but figured that she had to continue, so she played the intro again, and the kids sang once more, “ON THE TWELFTH DAY . . .” But nothing more happened this time than did the last.
“What have you done with them?” Emma demanded.
Norman chuckled. “Well, I just let them out for a little walk.”
There was going to be no change in this heart, Emma knew, but something had to be done. Mrs. Stevens was playing the intro once again. Emma walked right up to Norman, who hugged old Scratch closer. Changes do not happen with fists, Emma reminded herself, but maybe they can be helped along now and then by a swift kick in the shin. And so she gave Norman one, stunning him and causing him to loosen his grip on old Scratch, which she snatched away.
“ON THE TWELFTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME . . . ,” the kids sang once again.
There was a moment of silence, a very short moment, but to Mrs. Stevens and Coach Cullimore, to Mrs. Walsh and Dolores, and especially to the kids, it seemed a very long moment indeed.
Then out of the fireplace, like the hero to the rescue she was, ran Emma with Scratch, which she held up high for all to see. “A CAT!” Emma shouted out.
“A CAT!” the kids repeated, surprised and delighted. Mrs. Stevens finished playing with a flourish and laughed in relief, as Coach came up to her and gave her a kiss. The twinkle-eyed photographer from LIKE magazine snapped for posterity the picture of Emma holding up old Scratch, and the audience broke into thunderous applause—led by none other than Mayor Nobel Doyle himself!
18
A Triple Reunion
The one person not applauding, of course, was Norman. He grabbed the ropes, closed the curtains, and ran to Emma to snatch old Scratch back. “Gimme my cat! Gimme my cat!” Unfortunately, this placed him right in the middle of many dogs, some of which had a very good memory of exactly who Norman was.
The audience was still on its feet, many were still applauding, and all were excitedly chatting about what a great show they had just seen, when they suddenly heard a great disturbance from behind the curtain. There was growling and barking and squealing (this from Norman), and the curtain was being kicked into a great agitation. Suddenly old Scratch came bounding out from behind the curtain and jumped into the arms of the sheriff for protection.
“What in the world?” more than one person asked. The answer came when Mike and Miranda opened the curtains to reveal Norman on the floor, desperately struggling under a pile of dogs, none of which were actually hurting him, some of which were just licking him—an act that Norman did not appreciate at all. Kids ran in and grabbed the dogs, taking them away, leaving Norman defeated on the floor. Next to him, obviously having fallen from his pocket during the struggle, and in plain sight to everyone—including the mayor—was a large wad of money.
The mayor was stunned. So it was true! His brother! A dogfight profiteer! Nobel Doyle marched onto the stage, took the wad of money, and shook it in Norman’s face. “Dogfights, Norman?” Nobel said in utter disappointment. Then with anger he ripped from Norman’s overalls the patch that read: DOGCATCHER OF DOVERVILLE leaving behind the old one which read: GARBAGE COLLECTOR. “And that cat goes back to sanitation with you!” With that, the mayor left the stage to rejoin the warmth of the cheering crowd.
Emma could not have been more pleased. Well, no, that is not true. Something could have pleased her even more. And in thinking about her father, she saw what she assumed was a momentary illusion, maybe a wish-induced mirage. But the image hung on, stayed there in the back of the hall, standing in the colors of the Christmas tree, clapping and smiling. Oh my goodness! Emma realized. It’s not an illusion; it’s not an illusion at all! She ran off the stage, up the aisle, and into the arms of her father. They hugged; they hugged so tightly they both had to catch their breath when they broke.
“You came!” Emma said.
“Of course I came. You were wonderful.”
“But Aunt Dolores said, I mean, I thought—you really came.”
“Nothing’s more important than a promise, Em.” Emma grabbed her father again and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, Emma.”
It was all a bit confusing for Max—the applauding, the cheering, the dogs playing with that funny-looking human. But wasn’t it time to go? He could use a little rest. Actually he would like to have joined the others. It looked like they were having fun, but how could he have fun without Mr. Whiteside?
“Max!” Why he could almost hear Mr. Whiteside calling him. “Max!”
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if—wait! Max looked down from the doghouse on top of the fireplace and looked into the eyes of Mr. Whiteside. But was it really Mr. Whiteside? He seemed to have four legs now, two of them wooden, and one of his old legs was covered in white. “Don’t you recognize me, Max?” Yes, of course, it was Mr. Whiteside! Max jumped out of the doghouse onto the green and red steps and ran to Mr. Whiteside, wanting to jump up on him. “Whoa, careful, boy. I’m a bit unsteady on my feet. Here, let me sit.” Mr. Whiteside sat on one of the steps, then took Max’s head in his hands and gave him a big kiss. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Max. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. It’s hard to ride the rails in a cast. Yes, look, I have a broken leg. Isn’t it wonderful?! You see, I was yelling at those careless men taking my furniture away when I leaned a bit too far out of the window. Thank goodness they had piled all the mattresses on the sidewalk. Fell right on top of them. Of course, then I bounced off of them onto the sidewalk, and that’s when I broke my leg. But a blessing in disguise, Max, a blessing in disguise, for while I was in the hospital, Max, the pain meant nothing, but the missing of you was unbearable. So I decided not to bear it, no matter what! And here I am! I don’t know what we’re going to do, Max. Maybe when my leg gets better, we can ride the rails out West. Who knows? But whatever may come, at least we’ll be together.”
Max was happy. And he didn’t care if he ever saw another doghouse in his life.
On the other side of the Christmas tree was Dolores, who had been waiting for Emma. She had not seen Douglas O’Connor enter, and saw him only when Emma ran into his arms. She felt a little awkward, and thought she should leave, but Douglas saw her and went over to her, holding out his hand. “Thank you,” Douglas said. Dolores wasn’t sure whether she should take his hand or not. “I’m not the man you knew,” Douglas continued, “and I apologize for the man I was. Many things have happened to me in the years since we knew each other. Some good— Emma’s mother—a lot bad. But I’m here today to tell you that I’m determined to work hard to make nothing but good things for my daughter and me from now on.”
“Yeah,” Dolores said, still skeptical. “Work hard at what?”
Douglas smiled. “You are looking at the brand new Northeastern United States sales representative for Jell-O.”
“Jell-O?”
“Hey, it’s light and sweet. And if this country ever needed anything light and sweet . . .”
“Jell-O?”
“They just introduced a new flavor—lime!”
“Jell-O?”
“They’re going to sponsor the Jack Benny radio show!”
“Jell-O?”
“Okay, it’s commission only, but I know I can do it. I’ll travel to every city and town and little country store in the Northeast and become the top salesman, I swear. And I can base right here in Doverville, because, you know, I always loved this place. But, because I’m going to be traveling most the time, I need someone to help take care of Emma, and so, I thought . . .”
Dolores finally took Douglas’s hand and shook it warmly. “I love Jell-O!” she said most emphatically.
Epilogue
Three weeks later there was a historic picture on the cover of the Doverville Trumpet. It showed the leading citizens of Doverville gathered at the Stevens farm around a large sign that read: THE CITY OF DOVERVILLE & THE STEVENS FAMILY DOG ORPHANAGE. The orphanage was now official, funded by the city, as unanimously approved by the Town Council, and by the flood of donations in pennies, nickels, dimes, and the occasional dollar bill that had come in ever since the second LIKE magazine article had appeared.
In the picture you could plainly see the mayor on one side of the sign, and Emma, who had just unveiled the sign at the mayor’s invitation, on the other side. You could also see many happy dogs and lots of cheerful children, and Mrs. Walsh and Mable and Old Jake, but not Norman, who was busy collecting garbage, nor bug-face Melvin, who was busy helping him.
To one side you could see Mike kneeling by and hugging Yeti, and behind them you could see Mrs. Stevens and Coach, the only ones not looking into the camera, for they were looking at each other. And on the other side you could see Douglas O’Connor with Emma’s puppy on a leash, standing next to Dolores. And if you looked very close, you could see her hand comfortably placed in his.
And you could see Max. Yes, Max, sitting proudly by Mr. Whiteside, now out of his cast. They did not decide to ride the rails to go out West, for Mr. Whiteside could tell that Max did not want to leave all his new friends, especially now that he could run around with them and play. And as no one in Doverville wanted to lose Max, or the man who showed him such great love and devotion, Mrs. Stevens offered Mr. Whiteside the position of senior dog-keeper of the dog orphanage, and Mr. Whiteside was pleased to accept.
After the picture had been taken, Emma returned to her father and Dolores and her puppy.
“Does he have a name?” her dad asked as she took the pup into her arms.
Emma thought for a moment. Then she said, “His name is Miracle.”
About the Author
Steven Paul Leiva is a writer, director, and producer. He directed and co-wrote the ADA Award–nominated Bob Bergen in Not Just Another Pretty Voice. In film, Leiva is best known for producing the animation in Space Jam. Leiva also provided the voice of “Scott” in the multi-award-winning animated short The Indescribable Nth, which was short-listed for the Academy Award and can be viewed on Atomfilms.com. He is the doting father of two daughters and makes his home with wife, Amanda, in California.
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