The Treasure of Christmas

by Melody Carlson

  “There you go, boy.” She set down the bowl. “Hope you don’t mind eating people food.” She dished up her own breakfast, but by the time she sat down at the table, the dog had already licked his bowl clean. “Guess you like my cooking.”

  Satisfied, the dog returned to his spot by the fire and carefully settled himself onto the makeshift towel bed, groaning just slightly as he licked the swollen joint that seemed to be troubling him.

  After breakfast, Claire washed up the dishes to pass the time until nine when she could call Lucy at the store.

  “Missing dog?” said the old woman. “You say you’re missing a dog?”

  “No,” Claire corrected her. “I mean I have what must be a missing dog. He’s at my house right now, but he’s not mine.”

  “Oh. A stray, you mean?”

  “He’s a well-mannered dog. I’m guessing he ran away or got lost.”

  “Any ID?”

  “No, he doesn’t even have a collar.”

  “Well, he’s probably a stray then.”

  “But he’s an awfully nice dog, and he doesn’t look malnourished, although he’s got an injured leg. Have you heard of anyone who’s missing a dog?”

  “Well, let’s see. Arlen Crandall lost his tabby cat ’bout a month back. But then that cat was as old as Methuselah, probably older than old Arlen himself.”

  “Any dogs missing?”

  “Not that I’ve heard of. When’d you find him?”

  “Just last night. He showed up at my door during the snowstorm.”

  “Lucky for him you took him in. It was pretty nasty last night – winds were up to forty miles an hour.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad I heard him over the wind.”

  “You say he’s got a hurt leg?”

  “Yes. He’s limping, but I don’t see an open wound or any sign of infection. Still, the joint is pretty swollen. I wonder if I should try to get him to a vet.”

  “Land sakes, no,” said Lucy. Claire could hear her munching on something as she talked. “Don’t waste good money on a vet for somebody else’s dog. Besides, it’s probably just a sprain, and ain’t nothing no vet can do for a sprain anyway.”

  “I suppose. . . . Well, if anyone mentions a missing dog – he’s some kind of shepherd or collie mix, I think – will you have them call me?” Claire repeated her cell phone number twice to make sure Lucy got it right, then hung up.

  “Looks like you’ll be hanging out with me for the time being,” she informed the dog as she began working her morning schedule. But he seemed content to watch her from his post by the fire.

  Once again, she completed her tasks more quickly than usual, and it was only eleven when she decided she’d break her daily routine for the second time. “No reason not to take a walk early today,” she said as she glanced outside to see the sunlight breaking through. “Who knows, it could be snowing by two.” She reached for her coat, then remembering, she glanced over at her disabled canine houseguest. “Oh.” She frowned. “I’ll bet you’re not up for a walk, now, are you?” His tail thumped, but he didn’t move from the warmth of his spot by the fire.

  “No, of course not.” She rehung her coat. “I forgot about your bad leg.” She sighed and looked around the small cabin until her eyes came to rest on the canvas from yesterday. She stood and stared at the back of it for several minutes. She’d purposely avoided it all morning, but now she hesitantly approached it. Perhaps she was ready to examine her work more closely now. Maybe she would understand what it was she’d been trying to accomplish yesterday. She stood in front of the painting, her arms folded across her chest, and just looked. For a long time, she stared into it, hoping to see something – anything at all. But all she saw was white – shades upon shades of white.

  Finally, to give her eyes relief, she redirected her gaze out the window, studying the snow-covered pines glistening in the sunlight. A pleasant scene, like something you might see on a Christmas card, but nothing spectacular. Nothing worthy of actually painting into a landscape. But then again, what would it hurt to try? It wasn’t like she was doing much of anything else anyway. And so, once again, she arranged her paints on the pallet, some white and a bit of green and black. And then, with the scene out the window to guide her, she began to paint, carefully layering snow-covered trees to her blanket of white. She worked for several hours, but when she finally stopped, she felt disappointed. It was as if she’d become snow-blinded by her own creation, and for all she could tell it was simply layer after layer of unfeeling white. She turned from her work in frustration. “I cannot do this!” she exclaimed, throwing down her pallet knife in disgust. She’d almost forgotten about her visitor and was startled to hear his tail now thump-thump-thumping against the floor. “Oh!” She looked over to see him sitting by the door. “I’m sorry. I’ll bet you need to go out again.” She reached for her coat and let him out, then went to the shed to fetch another load of firewood as she waited for him. But as she carried the wood back to the house, she noticed the dog had wandered over and sat down right next to the garage door.

  “What is it, boy?” she called, stacking the firewood by her front door. “Don’t you want to come back inside now?”

  The dog remained there as if waiting for something. She walked over to the garage and patted his head. “What’s up, boy? You think there’s something interesting in there? Something you need to see?” She lifted open the garage door and held out her hand. “See, boy, it’s just my Jeep.” The dog limped over to the Jeep and stood right by the door, wagging his tail like he wanted to get in and go somewhere. “You want to get in the Jeep?” she asked incredulously. He sat down right next to the door and waited.

  She scratched her head. “Looks like you want to take a ride, boy. Maybe you think we’ll find your owners. Well, hang on while I go get my keys. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go down to the store and see if anyone’s been looking for you.”

  Still, as she hurried back to the house to get her keys, she wasn’t entirely happy about the prospects of discovering this sweet dog’s owners. But suppressing these troubling thoughts, she helped load the injured dog into the passenger’s seat and started the engine. She slowly plowed her way through the long driveway until she finally reached the unplowed road. “I thought Jeannie said they maintained this road year ’round,” she muttered, maneuvering the Jeep through the snow. “Good thing I’ve got four-wheel drive.” She smiled to herself as she remembered a few years back when Scott had picked out their new Jeep Cherokee. She had teased him over the unlikelihood that they’d ever actually need an off-road vehicle for their urban lifestyle in the Bay Area. “You just never know,” he’d said with a twinkle in his eye.

  “You just never know,” she repeated as she glanced over at her well-mannered canine passenger. “Well, it sure looks like you’ve been in a car before.” She half expected him to start barking when they reached a particular crossroad, like perhaps he was going to direct her to his home. But he just sat quietly, happily gazing out the window as if he rode around with strangers all the time.

  After about thirty minutes of slow going, they reached the store and Claire carefully unloaded the dog. He stayed right at her heels, following her up to the front door. It hadn’t even occurred to her until then that she didn’t have a leash for him. But then she wasn’t used to dogs or what to expect, and besides, this one almost seemed like he was leading her instead of the other way around. “Okay, you wait here, boy,” she instructed him. “I don’t know if Lucy likes dogs in her store or not.” Obediently, as though he understood, the dog sat down on the porch.

  The little brass bell on the door jingled as Claire entered, and old Lucy looked up from behind the cash register where she was reading a newspaper. “Hello there,” she called.

  “Hi, Lucy. I thought I’d stop by to – ”

  “No one’s been in here today to complain ’bout a lost dog,” she said with a frown as she folded her paper. “Fact is, ain’t no one been in here today doing much of anyth
ing.”

  “Oh.” Claire looked around the small but well-stocked store. “Well, I guess I might as well pick up a few things while I’m here then.”

  Lucy looked up with what seemed somewhat skeptical interest. “You still thinking you’re gonna winter here?”

  Claire nodded. “I – uh – I think so. Well, at least until Christmas.”

  “And you sure you’re stocked up?”

  “I think so.”

  “Think so? Or know so?” Suddenly Lucy was rattling off a list of all kinds of things – everything from toilet paper to coffee to canned meat to candles. “Just in case the electricity goes out, you know. We lost power for near a week a few years back when a tree blew down and took out the power lines with it. Not only that but a body can run out of all sorts of things during a long stint of being snowed in up here. You newcomers just don’t understand what it takes to survive in the mountains when three feet of snow can fall within twenty-four hours.”

  “But my friend told me that the roads get plowed here . . . eventually.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes and laughed. “The key word being eventually. And unless you have a snowmobile or are ready to trek all day and night on snowshoes, you could be stuck but good. And you might as well know right up front that I don’t make deliveries.”

  “Well, maybe I should pick up some extra things then,” said Claire. “As well as some dog food and dog things.”

  By the time Claire got out of the store, she’d spent more than a hundred dollars and wasn’t sure if she was being wise or had just been duped by a sharp old businesswoman. Whatever the case, she figured she or someone else would use the supplies . . . eventually. The dog was still waiting on the porch.

  “Hey, boy,” she said as she opened a box of chew bones and gave him one. “You’re a good dog.” He quickly munched down the treat then followed her to the Jeep, watching while she loaded her supplies into the back. She paused to pull the new red collar from the top of the last box and bent down to slip it around the dog’s neck. “Just until we find your owners, and in case I need to leash you up – not that I expect to – you seem to stay pretty close as it is. And it doesn’t look like you’ll be ready for a walk any time soon.” Then she hoisted him back into the passenger seat. “Don’t you look handsome.” She stroked his smooth head and rearranged his collar so his tufts of ebony and honey colored fur hung neatly over it, then went around to the driver’s seat.

  “No one’s called about you yet,” she told him as she drove away from the store. Then she smiled – actually smiled. “But that’s okay with me.”

  It was just getting dusky when they reached the cabin, and she wondered where on earth the day had gone. More snow was beginning to fall as she carried her supplies inside. Then, remembering Lucy’s strong words of warning, she decided to get a few more loads of firewood stacked on the porch before dark and even took time to chop some more kindling. As she worked – quickly, before the light faded – the dog stayed with her, limping back and forth between the house and the woodshed.

  “You’re such a good companion,” she said as she finally stacked the last piece of wood by the door and brushed off her hands. “And I’ll bet you’re hungry now.” Claire paused to stomp the snow off her boots. “I know I am.” The realization of her statement hit her as she shook off her hat. “It’s true, I’m actually hungry!”

  5

  Snow fell silently and steadily throughout the night. By the time Claire got up the next morning, there appeared to be about eighteen inches of accumulation. She took the broom along with her when she let the dog out, sweeping away the feather light powder that had drifted onto the porch. Taking in a deep breath of cold mountain air, she held it for a long moment, experiencing the chill in her lungs, then slowly exhaled. Lovely. It really was lovely. She hadn’t noticed how clean and fresh it had felt before. The morning sun was peeking beneath a layer of clouds now, shining like a golden beacon through the trees, illuminating everything in its path with a wide stream of heavenly light.

  If only she could take a walk today. She glanced over to the dog limping back toward her, his tail wagging. His leg did seem slightly better, but not well enough for a walk. And how could she leave her poor faithful companion all alone? What if he didn’t understand? Or thought she had abandoned him? No, her daily walks would have to be kept on hold for a while longer.

  “I wish you had a name, boy.” She patted him on the head. “Well, I suppose you do have a name. I just don’t know it.” She thought for a minute. “Maybe I should just give you one.” But what if she gave him a name and then his owners suddenly showed up to collect him. Perhaps it was better not to get too attached. Or to wait and see what happened first. She finished up with her outdoor chores, shoveling the paths, stacking more wood, and chopping more kindling.

  “Maybe old Lucy was right,” she said to the dog as she stomped the snow off her boots. “I suppose we could get snowed in here.” She squinted up at the morning sun still filtering through the trees. “Although that doesn’t seem very likely right now.”

  Back in the cabin, she wondered what she could do to pass the time. She stood and studied her snowy painting from the previous two days and finally just shook her head. “An exercise in futility,” she muttered. Then she removed the canvas, leaned it against the wall, and replaced it with a blank one. Once again she stood for a long while, just staring out the window, gazing on the patterns of light and shadows that played through the trees. Could she possibly capture it? And what would it hurt to try?

  She worked so long and hard that she completely forgot about lunch, and only when the outside shadows grew long and somber did she pause to turn away from her work and finally look up at the clock. “Good grief!” She noticed the dog now standing at her feet, looking up expectantly, as if he needed to go out again. “Whatever happened to the day?”

  She set aside her brush and let him out, taking a moment to stretch her stiff arms and shoulders and shaking the cobwebs out of her head as she breathed in the fresh icy air. “Hey, it looks like you’re walking better now, boy.” She bent down and gave him a good scratch behind the ears. “Tell me, do you have a master somewhere? Someone who’s looking for you and missing you just desperately?” She shook her head. “Well, if you were my dog, I’d have been combing the neighborhood for you. And the first place I’d have checked was Lucy’s store.” She stood up. “And if no one calls for you by tomorrow, well, we’re giving you a name – and that’s that.”

  After stoking up the faltering fire, she fixed dinner for them both, then busied herself with cleaning and straightening – afraid to allow herself to go back and review her day’s work. She knew she would only be disappointed with a painting that held nothing more than snow and trees and, oh yes, light. And although the snow scene was better than a blank canvas, it certainly wasn’t a landscape that Jeannie could interest Henri, or anyone else for that matter, in showing. But at least she was painting. That was something. For three days now she had actually worked – a real breakthrough. And it seemed no coincidence that this change had come only after she’d really broken down and prayed to God to help her. She hung a polished copper pot back on the rack and thought. Hadn’t that been about the same time that the dog had come into her life too?

  So that night when Claire went to bed, she remembered to thank God for sending help. Maybe it did come in the form of a dog, but it was help just the same, and she knew it. Now if only she could keep this dog.

  The next morning she awoke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. Certain it must be Jeannie checking up on her, she eagerly jumped out of bed, ready to tell her (and honestly this time) that she’d actually made a little progress – that she’d been painting! But it was a man’s voice on the phone, and one she didn’t recognize.

  “This is Rick Marks,” said a gruff voice. “I hear you’ve got my dog.”

  She felt her heart plunge like a rock as she looked at the dog now wagging his tail at her feet. She cou
ld tell he was ready to be let out. “Did you lose a pet?” she asked weakly as she walked across the room to open the door for the dog.

  “Yeah, he ran off.”

  “Really?” She thought about this. “Are you sure this is your dog? I mean, he doesn’t really seem like the type to run off – ”

  He laughed, but not in a nice way. “Aw, that mutt’s always running off.”

  She didn’t like this man calling the dog a mutt. “Well, maybe you should describe him to me. Maybe we’re not talking about the same dog.”

  But when Rick described the shepherd-collie mix right down to the patch of white beneath his chin, she knew they were talking about the same dog. “What’s his name?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “Mike.”

  “Oh.” She looked out the window to see the dog, rather, Mike, now making his way back onto her porch, his limp barely noticeable. “What happened to his leg?” she asked, not even sure why, perhaps only as a stall tactic.

  “His leg?”

  “Yes, he had a bad leg when he first showed up.”

  “Well, he was perfectly fine last time I saw him.”

  She sensed hesitation in his voice and felt a flicker of hope. “Does that mean you might not want him back?”

  “Aw, he’s my dog, lady. Of course, I still want him back.”

  “Right.” She mechanically gave him directions to her house. “But that snow’s pretty deep,” she added. “And the roads haven’t been plowed over here. Are you sure you can make it here okay?”

  “It’d take a heck of lot more snow than this to keep me off the road.”

  Claire dressed quickly, then made sure that Mike got a good meal before his master arrived to take him away. After the dog finished licking the bowl clean, Claire knelt down on the floor and wrapped her arms around the soft fur of his neck. “You are such a good dog,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re going to leave me now.” She ran her hands down the silky coat on his back. “Thank you for coming to – to – ” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his neck and sobbed for several minutes. Finally she stopped, feeling his warm wet tongue now licking her face, as if to comfort her.