by Greg Kincaid
Trying again to help him understand, I said, “It’s hard to say. Some people buy a dog and it just doesn’t work out. Some people have to spend lots of time taking care of themselves and don’t have anything left to share with an animal. You’re not like that, though, are you?”
“No,” he said slowly.
“I admire that about you, Todd.” It was then that I knew what made someone an animal lover.
“Dad, what will happen to Christmas when we take him back?”
“He’ll stay at the shelter until a very special person is willing to make Christmas a permanent part of his life.”
“How long do you think that it will take?”
“The good ones go quickly, Todd. Maybe you could help Hayley find a home for him or, if you miss him, you can always go into town and visit.”
Todd didn’t say a word and I had no way of knowing if what I had said to him made any sense, or if it had been wise to suggest he visit Christmas after we returned him.
When we arrived, Hayley was pleased to see us, but surprised by the size of our entourage. She led us quickly into the shelter and down an empty corridor of cages. There was an eerie ghost-town feeling in the air. At the far end of the rows, we found the most recent addition and last remaining guest of the county animal shelter, a female dachshund the shelter employees named Ruthie.
Mary Ann opened the cage door. Her maternal instincts were ramped up to full power. She scooped up Ruthie before Todd and I could make an introduction. Ruthie eagerly greeted Mary Ann’s face with her cold nose and it was clear that these two were going to be pals. We filled out the obligatory paperwork, bid Hayley a merry Christmas, and were quickly back on the road.
Todd and Christmas were the first victims of Mary Ann’s newly found friendship with Ruthie. They were displaced to the back of the truck, where they huddled beneath a blanket to protect them from the chilly air as we headed home. Ruthie sat on Mary Ann’s lap with a minimal amount of fidgeting.
Mary Ann and I hummed along with the Christmas tunes that played on the radio and we both felt truly happy. Mary Ann’s hand reached over to touch my cheek and then rested gently on Ruthie. This was a Christmas Eve to remember.
As I turned the truck into our driveway, we could see activity in the barn and knew that Jonathan and the kids were preparing for our newest Christmas guest. Driving past the house, I went through an open gate and directly into the barnyard. Mary Ann cradled Ruthie protectively as we got out of the truck and walked to the barn.
“Hello!” Jonathan called out as we opened the barn door. “Come see what we’ve done.”
One of the large box stalls that had housed Dick and Doc, the draft horses that pulled the maintainer years ago, was now our makeshift maternity ward. Within it, they had made a box with two-by-twelve boards and lined it with straw. A heat lamp hung from the rafters and some old towels were in the corner. Jonathan brought out a lawn chair from the garage, where he remained perched while his boys hammered in a few more nails. Mary Ann stepped over the sides of the box and gently set Ruthie on the bed of towels.
We had hosted many animal births on this farm and had learned to respect nature as a good midwife. We provided our moms privacy and they did the rest. Christmas jumped over the boards, sniffed Ruthie, and then curled down beside her, gently nudging her face and ears with his nose. She would have none of it. She growled and Christmas wisely backed off. However comfortable with humans Ruthie may have been, she wanted no part of an unknown male dog, at least at this point.
Mary Ann scolded the poor dog. “You men just don’t know when to keep your distance, do you?”
Once our guest was settled to Todd’s and Mary Ann’s satisfaction, we headed back to the house for a family dinner. We ate quickly, as all of us were more concerned with Ruthie than with having another helping of mashed potatoes. After dinner, Nurse Mary Ann led the procession back down to the nursery for another inspection. She made the men stand in the cold night air while she went in with Jonathan’s wife, Karen. When they came out of the barn, Jonathan’s youngest son, Jeremy, looked at us with eager eyes. “Grandma, can we open presents now?”
Mary Ann lifted Jeremy up and held him close. “It’s time,” she announced, glancing back at the barn door. “Shut the door,” she called out as she carried Jeremy back to the house.
I don’t remember any of the presents that I gave or received that year. Truth was I seldom gave or received anything that was truly needed. It was after eight PM by the time all the presents were opened and the children were loaded back into the car.
After Jonathan and his family left, I snapped the red lead onto Christmas’s green collar and took him outside and waited patiently for him to do his business. We watched as Todd and Mary Ann went down to the barn to check once again on Ruthie. Christmas seemed strangely agitated, restless. He pulled on his leash and whined, and barked once or twice in the direction of the woods that flanked Kill Creek. I suspected that there were deer in the nearby meadow.
Todd and Mary Ann joined me and reported that Ruthie was resting comfortably. Walking to the house, Christmas pulled, and though he came along, he stopped in the doorway, turned toward the barn, and barked again, not happy about what was left behind.
“What’s wrong, Christmas?” I asked. “Isn’t the Hilton good enough for you anymore?” We were apparently too exhausted to notice the open barn door.
I WAS IN the deepest of sleep when a different kind of Christmas clatter woke me late in the night. It was not Santa on the roof. It was a Christmas dog barking and throwing himself at the back door with the full force of his body. Todd was screaming, “Dad, Dad, something is wrong with Christmas!” Dogs have a wide variety of barks. Some barks are meant to warn, others to intimidate, but not this bark. It was a higher-pitched bark that seemed to be extremely agitated and concerned. Trying to focus, I listened more closely and could make out Ruthie’s alarmed bark too. Something or someone was in the barn and that couldn’t be good.
Mary Ann and I both pulled on our robes and I decided to take no chances. My grandfather was right. It was good to have a gun in the house. I rummaged through the bottom of the closet and found the ancient rifle I had hoped I would never need. I chambered a round, grabbed an extra bullet, and headed down the stairs as fast as I could on a leg that was still cold and stiff.
By the time I got to the door, Todd had opened it and Christmas streaked out with more speed than I could have imagined. He stretched into full flight. It seemed as if his feet did not bother touching the ground. I followed behind, moving as fast as I could, but unable to match the dog’s quick exit. Mary Ann was yelling behind us all, “Be careful!”
Ruthie was barking more urgently from the barn. Then there was snarling, hissing, and an awful racket of unfamiliar sounds. “Todd!” I hollered. “Don’t you dare go into that barn!”
Christmas did not hesitate. As he shot into the barn, his barks became even more intense before turning into snarls. Within seconds, there was a sound I had heard only a few times in my life. It was the unmistakable din of animal warriors locked in a life-or-death battle. The noise was horrific and unyielding. The sounds suggested that nothing could possibly be living in that barn within a very few short moments. Would Todd know to stay out of a fight like this? He still had not reached the barn. I had to do something quickly.
I raised my rifle and fired into the air, hoping to frighten away this intruder or maybe scare Todd enough to slow him down. The old rifle has quite a kick to it and the shot caused an immediate ringing in my ear. I ejected the spent cartridge and chambered the one remaining round. Though I had not fired a gun since 1969, the motions came easily to me, without thinking.
Just as Todd came to the barn door, swinging open in the wind, a flash of brown exploded from the door and nearly knocked him over. I could not believe my eyes. It was a full-grown cougar making a run for it. Todd was right. It was a darn big cat and it moved with a grace and power that I had never witnessed in man or
animal.
Christmas was after him with the zeal born of centuries of breeding. He barked and Todd screamed and all three of them were headed across the barnyard. The big cat came to the fence and, instead of leaping over, spun around and faced Christmas as he closed in.
A motion detector caused the barn’s flood-lights to turn on and I could see the cat hissing and pawing at the air as Christmas danced from side to side, forward and backward, with a menacing growl. The cat would approach and Christmas would back off. When the cat retreated slightly, Christmas would again lunge forward, only to be rebuffed again. The cat was growing more aggressive and suddenly it crouched and leaped forward to close the gap. With one giant swipe, he smacked Christmas across the chest with his right paw. Christmas was flicked like a fly from a tabletop and tossed five feet through the air. He rolled back onto his feet and angrily attacked again, oblivious to the size and skill of his foe.
While I hoped that Todd would know better than to get in the middle of a fight like this, amid the excitement, I was not sure. It was with him, therefore, that my worry remained. Leaning against the barn for support, I trained the gun sight on the big cat. He was fifty yards out and it would be a difficult shot, particularly with Todd and Christmas moving in and out of my line of fire.
“Todd,” I yelled. “Get to the ground so I can shoot the rifle.” He must have been too excited, for he kept going. Disaster was only moments away and I had to take a chance on one shot. My mind sifted through the options quickly. It occurred to me that the easiest shot would be to Todd’s leg. It just might save his life. I also thought about the dog. I was sure that the cat would leave on his own but for the attacking dog. The cat was the hardest shot of the three, but I knew it was the only one I could live with myself for taking. I again tried to put the cat in the sight, but he was still moving too quickly. I had no confidence in my ability to make that shot, particularly with such an old rifle. Wounding the animal could make things worse. By eliminating his ability to run away, he would be forced to stand and fight.
The shot needed to be a clean kill. I needed another option and came up with it. I did not like it, but I could not think of anything else to do.
Aiming, I slowly squeezed the trigger. The old .30-06 jumped in my arms and the recoil threw me back. The crack rang out over Cherokee County like an explosion. Todd froze, pulled back into reality. The bullet struck the gravel in the few feet between the cougar and the dog. Rocks and stones spewed up into the faces of both beasts. I lowered the rifle.
I knew I had only an instant while the dog’s concentration was broken and I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Christmas.”
When he turned in my direction, I then screamed the one order we had practiced the last several days. “Sit!” I pushed the air down with the palm of my hand.
Christmas looked at me, and while he did not obey the command, he was distracted. The big cat took advantage of the lull, turned, gathered his strength, and leaped over the fence.
Christmas, seeing the escape, ran along the fence line, searching for an opening. Todd and I yelled at him, but it was no use. He squeezed through and, with the yelps of a hound, set out in the darkness after the cat.
Quickly both animals passed through the meadow, out of the range of our lights, and into the surrounding forest. I figured the cat would leave Christmas far behind in no time.
“Todd, are you okay? Let’s check the barn.” He hesitated, staring at the fence where Christmas had disappeared, but turned and came back toward me. I was panting and out of breath before I got to the barn door. Mary Ann was at my elbow as I turned on the inside light. We were scared to death for Ruthie. She was huddled in the corner. Mary Ann cautiously approached her motionless body. Not having the nerve to look, I stayed back.
Mary Ann let out an excited scream. “Three of them!”
Ruthie had managed to give birth to three puppies that were suckling beside her.
“Three puppies,” I repeated.
Before we could head back to bed, Christmas ambled back to the barn, where we had remained with Ruthie, as if he had been on a casual midnight stroll. Despite the swat he’d taken from the cougar, remarkably, he was unharmed except for a few scratches.
Todd put his arms around the dog’s neck. “That was a big cat, Dad! Not too big for Christmas, though, was it?”
“Nope. I guess you were right, Todd. No cat is too big for Christmas.”
Mary Ann turned to me. “I’ve had enough excitement for one night. Let’s leave Ruthie to be with her puppies. Morning will be here soon enough.”
Before walking back to the house, we checked and rechecked to make sure the barn door was closed.
Todd headed immediately to bed. Mary Ann and I fell into the two big stuffed chairs that flank the fireplace, our hearts still beating from the excitement. Christmas also seemed unsettled. He sat between us and pawed at my knee. “So, you want to be petted?” I asked. “I guess you deserve it. You are one amazing dog.” He let out a little whimper and then settled down to sleep.
THE NEXT DAY brought us a holiday to remember. I was a little late with the chores, but Todd, Mary Ann, and I made hourly visits to the barn to check on Ruthie and the puppies. None of the scratches the big cat inflicted on Christmas was serious, but still Todd dabbed the cuts with iodine. Hayley called from her house and insisted on driving out to the farm to see the litter. Upon her arrival, Todd showed her each puppy and recounted last night’s heroics. I was not sure whether she was more impressed with Todd’s ability to handle animals or Christmas’s ability to handle cougars.
She waited for the right moment and then pulled me aside and whispered, “George, after Christmas, would you please call me? I’d like to discuss Todd with you. We might have a job for him at the shelter. We have an opening, but I’ve been slow to fill it. I’ve been waiting for the right person to apply. I think I may have found him.”
“I can’t think of a nicer Christmas present for Todd,” I said. While nodding in agreement, I decided to not say anything to Todd or his mother until after the twenty-sixth. I wanted to deal with the issue of returning Christmas first.
Later that morning, the channel 5 news truck pulled up to do a follow-up story on the puppies and the Adopt a Dog for Christmas program. Brenda Lewis took a picture of Todd, Mary Ann, and me, each of us holding a puppy, with Christmas and Ruthie looking on like proud parents. It now sits in a frame on our mantel.
When the news crew was finished with us, they turned down the road to do a segment on Hank. It seemed that he was doing just fine with his two dogs.
Christmas Day was thankfully calm. Two of my grandchildren phoned Todd several times to pass on the anecdotal happenings of their adopted Christmas dogs. Todd, in turn, updated them on our excitement. It seemed that notwithstanding my efforts, we had been added to the list of local crackpots claiming to have seen a cougar but having absolutely no proof except for the temporary iodine stains on Christmas’s fur.
For lunch, Mary Ann warmed up leftovers and then we relaxed for the rest of the day, doing little more than feeling the winter sun as it poured through the window, putting logs on the fire, and enjoying our four-legged guests. We were all tired from the previous day’s excitement and allowed ourselves to nap, with our dog curled up beside us.
That night we rested our heads on pillows and let the bed take over the job of supporting our tired bodies. Mary Ann leaned over, kissed me softly on the cheek, and said, “Merry Christmas, George.”
I held her tightly, not only because I loved her dearly but also because I wanted to hold the moment—my most memorable Christmas. “Merry Christmas, Mary Ann.”
“George?” she asked softly. “What are you going to do with Christmas tomorrow?”
I took her hand, massaging her fingers gently, and told her truthfully, “I don’t know.” There was nothing I wanted more than to just tell Todd that Christmas was staying, but that still did not sit right with me. At that particular moment, I couldn’t expla
in that what I wanted to give Todd was a gift more important than a dog. I didn’t know how to explain that the gift with the most love cannot always be wrapped or delivered. I didn’t know if Mary Ann could accept that some of the best gifts for Todd would not be given but withheld. I knew exactly what I should do; I just didn’t know how to do it. Nor did I particularly want to do it. There was no doubt in my mind that letting him keep the dog would be the easiest thing to do.
It was one of those confounding times when I did not know whether the bigger man held his ground or just let go and admitted he was wrong.
On December 26 I awoke to a bright, clear day with frost on the ground. Todd was already in the barn when I went out to do the chores. Christmas was with him. Sitting in the lawn chair, Todd held a tiny puppy in his hands. He, Christmas, Ruthie, and the puppies had all come together on our small farm. For a moment they were family. I didn’t have the strength to tell them that it couldn’t last. I turned around and went back to the house before any of them noticed me watching from the door.
After breakfast, Todd came to me. “I called Hayley. She is going to come out and help us with the puppies and Ruthie.”
I looked over the top of my newspaper. “That’s good, Todd.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, Todd.” I was bracing myself for what was coming next.
“About Christmas …” he started.
“Yes?”
To my surprise, and in a matter-of-fact way, he plunged ahead. “It’s the twenty-sixth and we have to take him back. That’s the way the program works. You take the dogs back on the twenty-sixth.”
I looked to Mary Ann, suspecting she was losing the fight against her tears. A few small ones rolled down her cheeks. I thought it would be Todd crying.
Things like this never happen in any one instant, but right there, I knew that Todd had taken a giant leap toward becoming a man. He had learned something so important: He kept his word, even when he could make no sense out of the commitment. Putting my arms around Todd, I said, “That’s right, son. That’s how the program works. It’s a good program too. Isn’t it?”