A Dog's Perfect Christmas

by W. Bruce Cameron

  “Time to man up, Dad,” Ello advised.

  “Go see Mommy!” Ewan said, his pronunciation so clear that everyone stared at him.

  “All right,” declared Sander. “Let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Plan To Ruin Christmas had been hatched almost entirely by Ello. She wrote the whole thing down, printed it, and handed it out, which touched Hunter more than he could ever tell her.

  Sander was in the far back of the minivan with Winstead, his sunglasses an odd, ridiculous shade of black.

  Garrett announced, “We bapa crapa gassa.”

  Hunter frowned.

  “That’s right,” Sander agreed. “You painted grandpa’s glasses. And I can’t see a thing.”

  Winstead, wearing a bright yellow service-dog vest with a harness, was wagging, ready to do whatever it was they were doing.

  “You first, Grandpa,” Ello directed managerially.

  Sander groped his way out of the car, gripping Winstead’s harness and trying to see under his glasses. Winstead dragged him over to a parking sign and lifted his leg.

  “Even guide dogs have to pee,” Ello reasoned.

  The twins thought this was hilarious.

  As soon as the hospital’s front door shut on his father and Winstead, Ello readied the rest of the family: “Let’s do this!”

  They jumped out of the car, Ello zipping up her duffel bag. She held it under one arm like a football. The boys followed obediently across the parking lot and into the front lobby.

  Sander was at the front desk, cocking his head skyward with a smile. “Merry Christmas,” he announced to the receptionist’s ceiling. “I brought you a gift!”

  With that, he tossed a wrapped box onto the desk with enough force and inaccuracy that it skidded across the surface like a flat rock on a still pond, falling to the floor. The receptionist, already thrown off-kilter, bent to pick up the package. As she did so, Ello hurried past her and down the hall toward her mother’s room, Ruby silent in the bag.

  When the woman sat back up, she was visibly flustered.

  Hunter waved at her as he passed, the twins bumping into his calves. “Just me, Hunter Goss, and my two boys going to visit their mother. That okay?”

  The woman nodded, typing his arrival into her computer, then turned to unwrap the gift. “My, this is nice,” she proclaimed, surprised. It was chocolates. According to Sander, a woman would accept a gift of chocolates from anyone, no matter how inappropriate.

  Hunter and the boys joined Ello in front of the door to their mother’s hospital room. Soon, Sander came sauntering around the corner, Winstead’s nails clicking on the slick floor beside him.

  “That was fun. I read about this one guy who went into professional acting when he was seventy.…” he mused.

  Hunter nodded. “Okay, maybe by the time you’re seventy you’ll be able to act. Everyone good to go?”

  * * *

  Juliana gasped in surprise as her entire family came bursting, SWAT-like, through the door.

  “Merry Christmas!” Ello announced.

  The boys threw themselves on the bed and climbed onto their mother, saying, “Mewwy Cissma.”

  Winstead put his paws up and sniffed her while Sander took off his sunglasses and blinked in the harsh light.

  Juliana hugged her boys, then glanced at her husband. “I didn’t know dogs were allowed.”

  For some reason, this made Ello, Sander, and Hunter laugh out loud. “Get down, boys,” Sander commanded. “Give your mother some breathing room.”

  “We have a new member of the family,” Hunter informed her gaily.

  While Juliana stared at him in noncomprehension, Hunter nodded at their daughter and Ello lifted the duffel bag onto the bed. She unzipped it and, to Juliana’s shock, out bounded a white and brown puppy who made a beeline for Juliana, kissing, kissing, kissing the patient’s face.

  Juliana peered in confusion at her husband.

  He shrugged. “Long story.”

  At the bottom of the bag were some small gifts. The twins were delighted to receive rubber balls, which they started throwing against the walls. This tantalized Ruby, who jumped off the bed and began chasing them, her legs sliding out from underneath her. Winstead, still in character as a service dog, watched tolerantly. Within seconds, the bedlam had reached crisis level.

  “Boys!” Sander commanded sharply.

  In Juliana’s experience, nothing short of firing a gun into the air would get the twins’ attention, so she was shocked when Ewan and Garrett looked up at Sander in surprise.

  “Let’s play dead-animal-by-the-side-of-the-road,” her father-in-law suggested.

  It was genius. Upon his command, both boys fell to their backs on the floor, trying to be silent as they giggled, their limbs extended at awkward angles. Sander bent and examined Garrett. “What have we here?” he mused. “A dead elephant? Did somebody driving a Prius hit an elephant?” He reached out and touched Garrett’s nose and both boys giggled more loudly. “No,” Sander concluded. “An elephant has a big nose. This little squirt has a tiny nose. Maybe it’s a sparrow.”

  Ello had gathered up Ruby and was hugging the dog and kissing her face. Juliana saw the love radiating between them.

  So this is what happens when you fall into a coma.… Your daughter talks your husband into getting a puppy.

  “Maybe it’s an ostrich!” Sander exclaimed.

  “So,” Hunter said, “I was offered that promotion. Director of facilities for the whole company.”

  Juliana had expected as much. Something in the way her husband was carrying himself had led her to suspect that he had important news.

  Sander turned and looked at Hunter wisely. “Oh?” he asked shrewdly. “And what did you say, when they made that generous offer?”

  Hunter shrugged a bit too casually. “I resigned.”

  Juliana gasped aloud.

  Hunter smiled at her. “My wife’s about to go back to work full-time as a litigator, which is a labor-intensive job. I need a job where I can be flexible, so I can accommodate her schedule. So … you know … I’ll find something. My skills are in pretty big demand right now, and I could probably do consulting, at least. Until I find the right gig.”

  Juliana could only stare at her husband in wonder.

  Sander picked up Ewan by his feet, the boy hanging limply upside down, arms trailing toward the floor. “I think it’s a fruit bat,” Sander announced. He looked over to Juliana and Hunter. “I can help with the boys. I mean, what good’s a grandpa if he can’t handle a couple of well-mannered, quiet, obedient twins?”

  Ello snorted.

  “Hey, guys, do you mind if I talk to my wife for just a minute?” Hunter asked the group.

  The boys left with their grandpa, Sander observing that they were probably dead worms. but Ello lingered for a moment. She leaned in close to her mother. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered, and surprised Juliana by kissing her on the cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, Ello,” she replied.

  “Thank you for letting me keep my dog. This is the most perfect Christmas ever.”

  It was a presumptuous statement, but Juliana went with it. “Of course,” she agreed simply.

  After Ello departed, Hunter reached into the bag that she’d left behind and pulled out an unwrapped gift: it was a thick binder, three rings, filled with what looked to be hundreds of sheets of paper.

  “What’s that?” Juliana asked.

  “It’s my official moving plan for my now ex-company. Merry Christmas.”

  “Oh. How thoughtful.”

  Hunter grinned. “I just wanted you to see how alike we are. We both think we can control outcomes if we just make a detailed enough list. If our plan’s perfect, then everything will come off perfectly, right? Turns out, though, no matter how great your plan is, nothing ever goes the way you think it will. It’s how you react to the unexpected challenges of life that really matters.”

&nbs
p; “Okay. I do get what you’re telling me,” Juliana said, nodding. “But I like making lists.”

  “With you back to work, running the household will be more my responsibility than yours. And I think you’ll find, with me doing that, things won’t be quite the same. Christmas won’t be the same. It’ll be good, but different. If you’re able to accept that, I think you’ll be happy with the results. It’s called life.”

  “You’re the man I love, Hunter.”

  “You’re the woman I love, Juliana.”

  Juliana sighed. “When I woke up and I couldn’t move a muscle, I was so terrified. They told me I’d get better, but how could I know that was true? I just felt paralyzed. And the only thing that got me through it was the fact that you were there to take care of me. Here I’d been thinking that you were so focused on your work that you didn’t give a hoot what happened to me, our marriage, or our children. And then I saw it was the opposite. I was wrong, and I know I hurt you with what I said at lunch a couple of weeks ago. I really wish I hadn’t done that.”

  Their kiss was sweet, gentle, and long.

  * * *

  When the minivan pulled into the driveway, Sean O’Brien was sitting on the front steps. He had a package in his hand. Ello’s heart began to pound. She put a hand to her mouth.

  Hunter stopped the car and they all sat silently for a moment, staring at the boy.

  “Hey, uh, Dad, can you like … I just need a minute,” Ello stammered.

  “Sure,” Hunter agreed.

  She jumped out of the car, holding Ruby, and ran right past Sean, who gaped at her in surprise. “I’ll be right back!” she told him.

  She dashed up to her room and grabbed the package she had so carefully wrapped. The gift that would communicate, We’re friends … not boyfriend and girlfriend, but really good friends. I really care about you, but not in a way that’s, like, me trying to say We Should Be Together or anything.

  Ruby nipped at her heels as she darted back down to the front door, but Ello shoved the puppy aside at the last second and shut Ruby in, ensuring that she’d be alone with Sean.

  “So, hey,” she panted with forced casualness, shoving the package forward like she was handing off a football. “Merry Christmas.”

  Sean accepted it and handed her a clumsily wrapped box in return. “Merry Christmas,” he repeated. They sat next to each other on the front steps.

  He unwrapped his present first, Ello watching tensely. When he pulled out the jersey, he gasped aloud.

  “So I looked it up and, like, one of the greatest Red Wing players of all time was this guy, Gordie Howe?” Ello explained. “So, uh, that’s his jersey. Number nine.”

  Sean was grinning, but Sean was always grinning, and Ello couldn’t tell if he was happy with it or not. But when Sean threw back his head and laughed with childish delight, Ello knew she’d scored.

  “Oh my God, it’s perfect,” he told her, his dimples positively puckering. “Mr. Hockey! This is amazing. I love it!”

  Sean held the jersey up to his shoulders. It had to be one of the ugliest garments Ello had ever seen. But all that mattered was that Sean liked it.

  “Now you,” he urged.

  Ello decided as she unwrapped the gift that she did not care what was inside. She’d love it because it was from Sean, and frankly, her best present was the way he’d reacted to the Gordie Howe jersey.

  Ello sucked in a breath when she saw what was inside. It was a familiar photograph, one that had hung in her bedroom for several years, and along with it, a letter from Meryl Davis, her idol.

  “What I did was, I wrote her publicist and explained how you lost the original letter, and she said—can you believe this?—she remembered writing you the first time! If you read it, you’ll see she’s really excited that you’re still ice dancing.”

  Ello swallowed, not trusting herself to speak. She finally took in a deep breath and shook her head in wonder. “Sean, this is, like, the best gift ever. It’s amazing.”

  They stared at each other and then Sean leaned forward and, as naturally as could be, put his arm around her and brought her face to his.

  Ello had kissed other boys before, but it had never been like this. Never this important, never this tender, never this graceful.

  It was the Best Day Of Her Life.

  * * *

  Winstead watched tolerantly as Ruby tore around the room, chasing the balls that the boys were throwing around as hard as they could. A picture frame fell to the floor, an ornament was knocked off the tree, but there was no yelling or shouting from the big people in the room, so Winstead didn’t react either.

  “Did you mean that, Dad?” Hunter asked. “I mean, about helping? Honestly, I talk a big game, but there’s no way I can do what Juliana does. And I really do want to be working, not just for the income, but because I don’t think I’m cut out to be a full-time, what do you call it? House husband?”

  Daddy nodded, easing into a soft chair while Hunter remained standing. “Of course I meant it. I hate to admit it, but Juliana’s illness got me off my ass, and I’ve never felt better.”

  They grinned at each other. Garrett threw a rubber ball at his brother’s forehead. Ruby attacked Winstead’s back legs, and Winstead growled, letting the puppy know he wasn’t in the mood. All he wanted was to sit next to Daddy’s chair.

  “So,” Hunter asked slyly, “don’t you have a widow or two to visit today?”

  Daddy laughed. “Just one.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Her name’s Claire. You’ll meet her. I don’t know.… There’s just something special about her.”

  “I thought you were going to be driving around town in your Porsche, racing kids at the stoplights and picking up women twenty-five years younger.”

  Daddy shook his head. “Not for me.”

  They sat quietly for a while. Finally, Hunter leaned toward his father. “Thanks for everything, Dad,” he said softly. “You really held this family together when it was going through the worst crisis possible. You helped me when I thought I was going to lose my wife. You helped Ello when I was too wrapped up in everything to give her the attention she needed. And somehow you even learned to communicate with the twins. You saved us.”

  Winstead sensed a burst of emotion coursing through Daddy. He felt it in the tremble of Daddy’s hand. Winstead turned and nosed that hand, trying to help.

  Daddy stood. “Come here, son.”

  Hunter took a step forward and the two men came together in a tight, fierce hug.

  Winstead wagged.

  * * *

  Ruby, exhausted from playing with the manic twins, sprawled across Ello’s legs. The puppy had long forgotten the house with the angry man and the scared boy—this was her home now. The day, with its car rides and the visit to the lady in the bed in the big building, had been filled with bouncing balls and boxes with ribbons. Ruby had ripped up crumpled paper until her mouth was dry, and had chased the boys around and around the room while they held aloft plastic objects and made zooming noises with their mouths.

  The puppy had never known such excitement. And now Ruby was happily lying with Ello. Soon the puppy and her person would both be asleep.

  It had been a perfect day.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As a professional storyteller, I supposedly have the ability to map out the beginning, middle, and end of a narrative. Yet as I sit down to write my acknowledgments for A Dog’s Perfect Christmas, I’m not sure where to start and I have only a hazy idea of where I should stop.

  The whole thing feels like the middle, frankly—acknowledging and thanking those people who helped me become the writer I am today. Because, after all, who didn’t help? Even the kid who beat me up in third grade for winning the spelling bee deserves some recognition, because I learned a lesson from that day, which is that some girls are really tough. Or how about the girl who kissed me for the first time in my life, while I lay on the floor of her basement and howled in fake protest? I ce
rtainly learned something from that. (Same girl, by the way. Our relationship was complicated.)

  So this is going to be difficult. I suppose it would be easiest just to say, “Thanks everybody,” and end it there. Certainly people would appreciate the brevity.

  Maybe it would be helpful to map out the history of this book. To do that, I have to start with A Dog’s Purpose, the first novel I ever had published. It wasn’t the first one I ever wrote, because I had written nine unpublishable novels prior to that, sort of like teaching yourself to ride a bicycle by falling off of it. Nine times. Anyway, Scott Miller, my agent at Trident Media, worked for two years to find a publisher for what we call “ADP”—my first dog book.

  And what a home he found for me. Tor/Forge has published every novel I have written since ADP, for a total of, I think, twenty-one now. So thank you, Scott, for all you have done to make me the author I always wanted to be, my ambition going all the way back to around the age when I was pinned to the basement floor by ruthless kisses. And thank you to the team at Tor/Forge—Linda, Tom, Susan, Sarah, Lucille, Eileen—this feels like the Academy Awards—for helping turn that first book into a publishing phenomenon with over thirteen million copies in print worldwide.

  Along the way I published a novella called The Dogs of Christmas, a huge success that continues to sell tens of thousands of copies every Christmas. A couple of years ago Linda, my publisher, told me her sales staff would really like another novella. And that’s the book you just finished reading: A Dog’s Perfect Christmas. (The original title was Untitled Cameron Novel. I liked it, but some people felt the title just lacked spark.)

  Of course, there were lots of steps in between. I want to give special thanks to Kristin Sevick, who read an essay of mine called “Last Dance at the Bus Bar” and suggested to me I should have the confidence to write a novel with the kind of heart and soul and family love as in that essay. With permission to come from a different place than a dog POV, I set out to pen a story about a family having a huge but completely normal crisis heading into the holidays. That everything changes for them when a puppy comes accidentally bounding into their lives seems to me an entirely logical turn of events.