The Puppy That Came for Christmas

by Megan Rix

  Sometimes dogs are too timid and nervous to make successful Helper Dogs, but these new puppies didn’t have that problem. If anything, they were too hyperactive, willful and easily distracted—not good qualities for Helper Dogs, but, at least, traits they might grow out of as they matured.

  I looked at the wriggling, seething balls of fur in the crate in the office.

  “Oh, Jamie, they’re just puppies!” I said as I picked up and cuddled the nearest one.

  “I can’t convince you to take one, can I? I’m sure the Scottish center wouldn’t mind.” Jamie smiled, in the vain hope that we’d acquiesce. “They’re little scamps, the lot of them, and I’m worried that if we don’t get the best puppy parents involved, they won’t pass their tests.” He sighed.

  Flattery was a good tactic, but it wasn’t going to work on me today. I was getting ready to pick up Traffy in the morning.

  23

  The next day, in the dark, chill December morning, Ian drove us over to Marion’s, the convertible looking forlorn in the cold, its heater struggling to cope. I had the softest of soft small blankets to hold our puppy in on the way back.

  Marion’s three adult Golden Retrievers came to greet us at the door. The fourth generation, all eleven puppies, were beautiful, lively, funny and just adorable. Marion pointed to one of the boys.

  “The people who were going to take him let me down at the last minute,” she said. “So if you’d rather have a boy you’d be welcome to have him instead. He’s got a fine head and could make a great show dog.”

  We didn’t want a show dog or any other puppy. We wanted Traffy, who felt like she’d been ours since she was a week old. Of the two other girls, one was going to Marion’s friend and the other she was keeping to show, and one day hoped to breed from—meaning that four generations would live under one roof.

  I lifted Traffy into my arms and gave her a cuddle until she started to wriggle, and then I put her back into the square play area with her brothers and sisters.

  Marion gave us a printed sheet about the feeds that Traffy needed. She’d already been microchipped, had her first course of injections and had been given a fancy pedigree name in case we changed our mind and decided to show her.

  “You can’t have the name Rosie because that’s what I’m going to call my girl,” Marion said. She had forgotten that Traffy had been named almost from birth.

  Finally everything was done and it was time to take her home. I carried her out to the car and Ian held her while I sat down, then put her on my lap on the baby blanket. She looked very comfortable and didn’t wriggle or cry at all on the way home.

  “She’s the best puppy for going in the car so far,” Ian said as she closed her eyes for a doze.

  Back at our house I carried Traffy past the Christmas tree and lights out to her toilet area, which we’d moved from down the end of the garden to under the tree closer to the house. Our experience with Emma and Freddy had taught us that, like it or not, many of the early deposits wouldn’t make it that far, so it seemed foolish to fight nature.

  The first day disappeared in a daze of love, playing and new discoveries for Traffy. Computer wires, steps, the TV remote, sofas, teddies and more—a whole world of new sights and scents to make up for the canine family she’d lost. We had a crate for her, but as Traffy was our puppy, and with memories of the trials and traumas of Freddy’s first few nights, we weren’t going to use it. Instead, I let Ian have the bed and I slept with her on the sofa. With very few whimpers and whines on her first night alone, she slept. I didn’t. I was alert for any disturbance or movement or sound she made and every time I thought she might need to go to the toilet I carried her outside. She looked so lovely and so confident that night, only seven-and-a-half weeks old, walking up and down our extra-long corner sofa to find a more comfy spot to rest on, showing the new house who was boss, then coming back and crawling onto me for a cuddle.

  The next day, I was dizzy with lack of sleep, but ecstatic. For the first time we had a puppy with whom I could fall totally and utterly in love without the fear that one day she would be taken away, so I let myself love her with all my heart and she loved me right back. Wherever I went she wanted to come, and I let her. While I was working on the computer she’d fall asleep on my lap, and when I was in the kitchen cooking, she’d be watching me from just a couple of feet away. Ian bought her a little stool so she could climb on and off the sofa by herself, and we quickly resigned ourselves to the fact that she’d be spoiled, but hoped that her good nature would mean that she didn’t take advantage of us too much. We watched her as she avidly ate her food mixed with special milk for puppies, resurfacing with her tiny muzzle and whiskers covered in whiteness.

  “She’s so adorable,” our friends said when they came to meet her. We were totally besotted.

  With only a few days left before Christmas, I made lots of biscuits in the shapes of dogs, stars, Christmas trees and stockings to sell at the Helper Dogs annual Christmas fête. Homemade treats, and anything dog-related, always sold well. Traffy’s nose twitched at the smell of them baking, but I couldn’t let her have any yet—they’d make her little stomach sick.

  “When you’re a bit older, then you can have some,” I said. I drove over that afternoon with the biscuits still warm and Traffy safe in a small car harness on the passenger seat. I was only intending to drop the biscuits off, introduce Traffy to everyone and go home, but when I got to the fête there was a local TV news crew. Jamie surreptitiously passed me a tiny Helper Dogs coat. He’d sent the troublesome litter on to Scotland, and that left Traffy with a glorious photo opportunity.

  “Put that on Traffy,” he hissed. “We don’t have any tiny puppies, and we need more puppy parents. Tell her to put on her best performance and make the TV viewers fall in love with her.”

  I slipped the tiny “Helper Dog in Training” coat on her and the reporter lifted her into her arms. Traffy gave the reporter one of what I already thought of as her trademark stares, a really good, intelligent look. The reporter was too busy doing a piece to camera to notice.

  “I’m here at the Helper Dogs Christmas Fête surrounded by lots of adorable puppies like this one . . .”

  Traffy was still staring at the lady, but her look seemed to have homed in on one particular facial area.

  “. . . details at the end of the program, as they’re looking for more volunteer puppy parents . . .”

  Traffy’s little tongue came out, and she licked the reporter’s nose as the reporter squealed and laughed.

  “That’s the take,” said the cameraman, pleased that the puppy had played cute on cue and brought some Christmas cheer to the report.

  The reporter spoke to Jamie and Frank, and then a few of us were interviewed about our experiences of being puppy parents. I spoke about how much we’d loved Emma and Freddy, and how hard it was to give them up.

  “I’d never want to take Emma or Freddy away from their new lives and the very important work they’re doing, but I’ll welcome them back home when they retire, for walks by the river, cuddles on the sofa and an endless supply of homemade treats,” I said.

  We got back from the center thrilled at the coverage for Helper Dogs and excited to be on TV. I also thought how grateful I was that Traffy wasn’t going anywhere. We could give her all our love knowing that she was staying with us.

  Also just before Christmas was Freddy’s last day with Jamie. He was being shuttled down to the Head Office with the other new recruits and initiated into advanced training. Jamie was incredulous at the sheer amount of stuff that Freddy owned.

  “He can’t take all those toys you gave him,” he said. “They’ll never believe it when they see how many he has.”

  “But he loves his toys, especially his pink unicorn.”

  “Well, maybe he can take that with him—but no more.”

  Poor Freddy. I’d brought him some of his favorite milky bone biscuits with me and as soon as he saw me he was standing up ready for a cuddle and
nuzzled himself into me. I was pleased to see that Traffy could tell he was special to me. Of all the dogs at the center, he was the only one she paid any attention to, and she wanted to be with him all the time, and he in turn was very patient with her as she climbed all over him. Whenever he moved she trotted after him like a little shadow puppy. It was really cute to see.

  I tried not to cry again as I said goodbye to Freddy, though this moment seemed less cruel, as he’d been taken from us once already. The time we’d had with him again was a luxury, an unasked-for bonus. I felt almost ready to send him off for his new life.

  Nevertheless, I must still have been a bit of a quiver as I almost forgot to mention to Jamie an important issue that I’d been meaning to raise for weeks.

  “Oh, one more thing . . . Ian wanted me to talk to you. His work in the city, they have a big corporate social responsibility department and at the end of each year they allocate money to some of its employees’ chosen charities,” I explained. “Ian wanted to nominate you, but we have to know what you could do with the money. How much should we ask for?”

  Jamie grinned widely. “Oh, right. I’ll take money from the capitalists any day! Spread the wealth and all that.” He grew serious as he pondered how much he could ask for without feeling cheeky. “Well, a hundred pounds would buy us a good number of leads and collars, maybe a few blankets . . . and then there’s the food bills.” His face dropped at the thought of the endless bills Helper Dogs faced.

  So it was settled.

  “A hundred pounds, why not?” said Ian, nominating Helper Dogs on the form he’d been issued and scribbling the figure in the box. “It can never hurt to ask, and we know it’s a good cause.”

  He sealed the completed form in an envelope and took it with him to work the next morning, his last day in the office before his Christmas break.

  On Christmas Eve we received a photo and some news about how Emma was getting on from Mike.

  “Our partnership just goes from strength to strength, thanks to your efforts with her when she was a puppy,” he wrote. “We have settled into a good routine both at work and at home. Emma is in tip-top shape, very lean and muscular. I sometimes think I have created a monster, though, and she is constantly demanding exercise!”

  The photo showed her looking trim and happy. It had been so hard giving her up, but it was worth it to see her so well and so loved. She was definitely where she belonged.

  “And you’re definitely where you belong,” I told Traffy, picking up her warm little body to give her a cuddle.

  “Definitely, definitely, Lady Puppington,” Ian said.

  Traffy had decided that when she dropped a toy off the sofa she should bark at Ian, and he should pick it up for her from the floor while she looked on. The first few times he’d laughed and done it—and she’d earned her nickname because she was so demanding and aristocratic. Then we’d realized we might be turning our little girl into a monster, a lazy dog that wouldn’t lift a paw for herself. This was too much, even for devoted puppy parents like us, so we started applying a little more of the Helper Dogs discipline we’d learnt. Now she had to use her little stool to get off the sofa and pick up her toys for herself. It had worked for their pups, and we were sure it would work for ours.

  That evening, I looked at her playing on the floor, caught up in some of the tinsel that I, feeling especially festive this year, had strewn around the room. Ian had never liked Christmas, and until Emma came along, he’d spent it out of the country, skiing or by a pool—as far away from his family as he could afford to go. When Emma had arrived the previous year, he’d canceled the holiday he’d organized for us on the slopes without a word of protest. That Christmas had been fantastic, and this year would be even better.

  “Finally, we’ve got something really worth staying at home for,” he said.

  I looked at the tree, the decorations, at Ian watching Christmas telly with Traffy, adorned with tinsel, worrying at his leg, and thought that there was nothing else I could want in the world.

  24

  I started Christmas morning by performing my now familiar Yuletide toilet supervision in the freezing 6 a.m. darkness. Traffy was delighted to be up and out as usual, snapping at the snow that had fallen overnight and snuffling around the transformed garden. Each day, Christmas or not, filled her with the wonder and joy of being alive. I remembered the Christmas before with Emma, and her being exactly the same, and I smiled at the memory. Puppies would always be puppies, but how different Ian and I were now. As soon as I could persuade Traffy in, I cleaned the muck off her paws, gave her a chew as a seasonal treat and took her upstairs with me, taking care to secure the guard at the top so she couldn’t climb down again without my say so. Then I slipped back into the toasty bed next to Ian, placing Traffy on top of the duvet. She scrabbled around, made herself comfy in a hollow next to me, curled her tail around her nose and closed her eyes.

  “We’re not getting a puppy again next Christmas,” I said. “I want a lie-in next year.”

  Ian grunted sleepily and smiled. For him, 6 a.m. was already a bit of a lie-in. I didn’t feel he was taking my Christmas morning conversation seriously enough, so I planted my icy hands on his chest. That got his attention.

  “Stop! Stop! That’s enough,” he said, opening his eyes. “We won’t have to get a puppy next Christmas. We’ll have this one—and the Christmas after, and the one after, and the one after . . .”

  That was better. I settled back into the warmth and closed my eyes.

  A few hours later, we were outside again, properly dressed this time, with our lively little furball, Princess Puppington. She was still excited about the snow and kept sticking out her little tongue to taste it.

  In a bid to calm her—or did I mean us?—down, we’d helped her open one of her presents, a soft pink duck, and she’d brought that out with her. The duck was almost as big as her and had startled her with the quacking sound it made when she bit it in the right place. She’d jumped back a couple of steps and surveyed it warily, then, deciding to assert her authority, jumped back into the fray, trying to find the sweet spot that produced the sound and looking very pleased with herself when she did so. Soon, I thought, she’d be meeting real ducks down by the river, and she’d be just as interested in them as she was in her toy one.

  Ian got busy making the Christmas dinner and was in such a good mood he even let me put a CD of carols on. Last year it had been just the two of us and Emma; this year we were expecting my parents, my brother Jack, his partner Carmel and their little Maisie. Mid-morning, they presented themselves at the door with armfuls of presents.

  “Hello, hello,” I said as I kissed them all. Ian shook hands with Jack and Dad and suffered my mum giving him a peck on the cheek, although he didn’t look very comfortable.

  Maisie looked completely different from when I’d seen her as a shriveled premature baby. Now she was a smiling, bonnie six-month-old. Jack and Carmel obviously totally adored her. Their miracle baby.

  “At first we were always worrying about how fragile she was,” Carmel said. “I used to have nightmares that she wouldn’t wake up.”

  “And now she keeps us awake,” Jack joked.

  “You did bring her milk in, didn’t you?” Carmel said.

  “Course.”

  My mum and dad had visited them as often as they could during the early weeks when Maisie had first come home from the hospital. The midwife had visited often too, and within a few months Maisie was given the all clear.

  Traffy was very interested in Maisie’s toys, more so, even, than in the wrapping paper, as she could sense that everybody’s attention was focused on them. Maisie smiled at Traffy and stretched her pudgy baby hands out to her and looked as if she’d like to play with Ducky in return. I smiled too. Maisie was gorgeous. We’d got her a yellow Labrador push-along toy, a child’s walker with wheels and handles to hold on to. It was a little early, granted—at six months old she wasn’t thinking about walking anywhere soon—bu
t when I saw it I hadn’t been able to resist. She’d have use for it soon, and in the meantime she could use it to help her balance and stand, and ride on while her proud dad pushed it around the room. It was also providing quite a distraction for Traffy, who was circling it with an air of circumspection on her face. On the plus side, it didn’t bark back when she yapped at it, but on the minus side it was a fair bit bigger than her, and she wasn’t at all sure about wheels instead of paws.

  Ian emerged from the kitchen around 1 p.m. with the most fantastic Christmas dinner, the first one he’d ever made, and we let Traffy have a tiny sliver of turkey to celebrate her first Christmas with us. It was all so fun and new for her. With Emma and Freddy we’d been very strict and always given them the dry dog food provided, but with Traffy being our own pup we felt we could be a little more lenient, as long as we remained aware of how sensitive her puppy stomach was. It was all so new for us too. It felt as if we had a home, a family, to bring together, something complete—ours and ours alone—that we could rely on and build upon for the years ahead. Traffy loved the turkey, and in the months to come we found that we liked making food for her—usually chicken and rice with a few vegetables, but never onions as they can be toxic for dogs—more than giving her prepared food. We knew we were spoiling her, and that regular dog food and treats should have been good enough, but with chicken and rice as her staple she never became overweight and grew strong and healthy, with tons of energy.

  Our first family Christmas all together was a day of happiness and treasured memories. Maisie adored Traffy, and Traffy was just fascinated by her. My mum looked on approvingly from the sofa over a slice of Ian’s homemade Christmas cake. “My two beautiful granddaughters,” she said. Mum and Dad were to become huge fans of Traffy’s too and were always ready to volunteer to look after her if we wanted to go away. They’d stay at our house and take Traffy for walks down by the river, marveling at all the wildlife they’d seen through their binoculars while Traffy waited patiently for them.