by Donna Ball
The Humane Society was always given a prime spot on the town square next to the Christmas tree, and this year we had also been able to book a photographer for a “Have your pet’s picture taken with Santa” session. In the spirit of the event, all the volunteers wore jaunty elf hats and “Spay or Neuter Your Pet” buttons in Christmas colors. We were the last stop for Santa photos before the big day, and we had already sold thirty tickets at $5.00 a pop.
“Anyway,” I added, “keep your eye on the collection jar. Knowing what he is isn’t the same as knowing who he is. The sheriff’s department has been trying to interview everyone who got a gift from Secret Santa, but so far no suspects.”
“Does that surprise you?” said Callie Anders, the photographer, who was busy setting up her faux-painted foam-core Christmas backdrop while the rest of us lugged heavy wire cages and ex-pens across the street to the town square. When I looked at her with what may have been a skeptically raised eyebrow, she explained, “I mean, really, the sheriff’s department expects these people to give up the person who saved their Christmas? Even if they did know who it was, they wouldn’t tell.”
To tell the truth, I hadn’t thought about that. Now I did.
“Merry Christmas, ladies!” A strong gloved hand fell on my shoulder, and on the shoulder of the woman working next to me. I twisted around to look into the twinkling blue eyes of Santa Claus. He had a strong booming voice and an electric presence that, I had to admit, took me aback for a moment. “You know Santa has a special place in his heart for those who take care of his smallest elves, don’t you?”
Okay, that made me smile. I transferred the two wriggling Australian shepherds into their temporary straw-lined pen and replied, “I hope that means Santa has already found a home for these puppies.”
When I straightened up from placing the pups in the pen, he was smiling at me kindly. “Don’t worry,” he said. “When the time is right, the right dog will appear.”
I felt a tingly sensation all over, and for a moment I couldn’t think of what to say. Callie came up and touched his shoulder, pointing out the sheet-draped chair where he would be posing for photo with the pets, and I grabbed Maude’s arm. “Did you tell him to say that?” I demanded , half-whispering.
She had a black mutt on a leash in one hand and a pointer/hound mix tugging at the leash on the other, and she looked mildly baffled. “Tell who to say what?”
I whirled around to point at Santa but he had moved off into the crowd. I muttered something unintelligible and hurried off with my head down to help unload the rest of the animals for adoption into the display
We adopted six animals—four kittens and two puppies—to new homes, and had a steady stream of pets and pet owners lined up to have their pictures taken with Santa Claus. The mother and son who had called me about their Christmas miracle came by to have their beagle-mix puppy’s picture taken with Santa, and left an extra $2.00 in the donation box. The beagle would probably grow up to be a coon hound, but the young boy loved it, and in this business that’s all that matters. We collected over two hundred dollars from the photos, and everyone who stopped by would stuff another dollar or two into our plastic dog-shaped collection jar. As busy as I was, I made sure that jar was never out of my sight, or the sight of one of the volunteers, and at the end of the day I counted three hundred twenty six dollars in bills and another twenty or so in change. I left the change in the jar and slipped a rubber band around the bills, handing it all over Sarabeth Potts, our treasurer.
“If you leave now you can get this to the bank before it closes,” I told her. “We‘ve only got a few more pictures with Santa, and then we’re going to start packing up.”
She tucked the envelope into her purse and zipped it up securely. “Okay, give me five minutes to give Santa a hand with that little dachshund. He already tried to bite one of the girls.”
I grimaced. “Santa or the dog?”
“Very funny.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it,” she called back over the sound of excited high-pitched barking, and moved to Santa’s station to calm the sharp-toothed dachshund.
The picture was taken without incident, and Sarabeth reported that Santa had been a good sport about the whole thing as she hurried off to the bank. The rest of us congratulated ourselves on a successful day as we started to pack up. The crowds had begun to thin, the apple cider and hot chocolate was running low, and the setting sun painted the sky overhead a dusky orange. The temperature had started to drop and, despite their warm beds filled with shredded newspaper and the furniture pads that shielded the crates from the wind, I didn’t want to keep the animals out in the cold much longer. There were only a couple of people left in line for Santa photos, and while Cassie set up her last shots I started to break down the adoption station.
“I can’t believe no one was interested in those cute puppies,” I said, looking in dismay at my two Aussies. We had decided against bringing the collie to Adoption Day, since there was a good chance that the children of the original owner might spot her, but I’d really thought the Australian shepherd pups would find a home today.
“It’s not that no one was interested,” Maude pointed out, “but that no one qualified. At least according to your standards.”
I drew a breath to challenge her on that, but a voice from behind me stopped my thought.
“Raine? Got a minute?”
I turned to see Buck coming toward me. He was wearing a fleece-lined denim jacket over his uniform and had a red Santa’s hat sticking out his back pocket. In his arms he carried a medium-sized cardboard box, and on his face was an expression that was about as uncomfortable as I had ever seen. He glanced beyond me at Maude, and then back to me.
“When Roe said I could find you here, I didn’t know…” His gazed swept the surroundings, puppy cages, Santa and all, and grew even more uncomfortable. “This probably isn’t the best time, but I go on duty in ten minutes and, well, I brought you something.”
He set the box on the ground, but before he could lift the lid it toppled to the ground of its own accord. Two fuzzy golden paws and a tiny golden retriever face with charcoal nose and chocolate eyes appeared over the edge of the box. I heard Maude gasp softly behind me, and when I glanced at her I saw that her lips were pressed tightly together and sealed by two fingers; otherwise she was expressionless. I may have mentioned that Maude is British and doesn’t express emotions easily. But in this case, she didn’t have to. I looked at the puppy and I knew exactly what she was thinking. I had not seen anything so beautiful since the day I had first looked at Cassidy.
The puppy tumbled out of the box with its jingle-bell collar jingling and its red leash trailing behind it; I sank to my knees and caught the leash before the pup could scamper away into the crowd, “Oh,” I gasped. “Oh, Maude, will you look at this? Look at his head, his eyes, those perfect little ears—this pup is conformation ready! Who breeds goldens like this around here? Buck, where did you get him? Oh, never mind, I don’t want to know, I’d just have to go to jail for beating up the person who abandoned this precious puppy and that would ruin everybody’s Christmas…” By then I was snuggling the pup next to my face and his sharp little teeth were alternating between chewing on my chin and chewing on his leash. “But we’re getting ready to close down here,” I said, glancing around anxiously. “Why didn’t you bring him in earlier?”
I heard Maude say softly, “Oh my word. You did it. You found him.”
The pup had clamped on to the pompom of my elf hat and dragged it off my head. Laughing, I let him have the hat and watched as he attacked it with a little puppy growl and shook it with all the ferocity of a T-Rex taking out a saber-toothed tiger. I stood up, holding on to the leash, and Buck’s expression, as he watched the puppy’s antics, was even odder than it had been before—something of a mix between amusement, indulgence, embarrassment and uncertainty.
He said, “Raine, I didn’t exactly bring the pup for the
adoption day. What I mean to say is…” He fumbled in his pocket and brought out an envelope, which he handed to me. “He has papers. And a registered name, if you’re interested. It’s Cassidy’s Sundance Rides Again.”
I just stared at him, not reacting at all, but I remember thinking, from out of nowhere, The Cisco Kid. I looked down at the pup, who was now on his belly, shredding my hat into a pile of yarn and fuzz between his paws, and I knew that was his name. Cisco.
Maude came up beside me quietly. “Buck asked for a list of the owners of all Cassidy’s pups,” she said. “I didn’t know why.”
“I found one of them in Ohio,” he said, “and they had one pup left from their last litter. It seemed like it was meant to be.”
Okay, there was so much I could have said. In the first place, you never, ever give a puppy as a present—particularly to someone who doesn’t know the puppy is coming and who hasn’t asked for it. Seriously. Buck knew better. In the second place, here we were in the middle of a Humane Society Adoption Day with at least a half dozen puppies we couldn’t find homes for, and he had brought me yet another puppy all the way from Ohio. Really?
And in the third place… Cassidy’s grandpup. He had gone all the way to Ohio to find Cassidy’s grandpup. The Cisco Kid.
The Cisco Kid had made mincemeat of my hat and had now started in on my shoelaces. Before I could do so, Maude bent down and scooped him up. “Come along, young master,” she said, “let’s go have our photo taken, shall we?”
And then there was just Buck and me, standing a few awkward feet apart, looking at each other. I clutched the envelope with Cisco’s papers in my hands. I wanted to be mad. I wanted to be defensive. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
So Buck spoke first. “Look, I thought about what you said. None of this is your fault. I’m the one who screwed up. You didn’t do anything wrong, and you ended up alone, and it’s not right. So…” He shifted his gaze briefly, searching for words. “ I know it’s not enough, but … maybe it’s a start. Somebody to watch over you, you know, and maybe do a better job than I did.”
My heart gave a little twist in my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Santa trying to maintain his cheery composure while Cisco chewed on his beard, clawed at his buttons, and burrowed into his pockets. Callie laughed out loud as she snapped photos, and Maude tried her best to try to keep the puppy still for the camera.
I said, “Buck…” And I had no idea what would follow that.
That was probably a good thing, because at that moment chaos broke loose. There was a cry and a crash, and I spun around to see that the golden puppy had somehow managed to catch in his teeth the white sheet that had covered Santa’s throne and tug the chair over, bringing with it a table, a small decorated tree, and a basket of dog treats. Santa, Maude and the photographer were scrambling to untangle the pup from the fabric, while the puppies in the nearby ex-pens jumped and barked and clawed at their wire confines, trying to get to the spilled treats that Cisco was gobbling as fast as he could find them. Passing dogs sensed the excitement and pulled their owners toward the fray. I turned to help, and so did Buck, but just then someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.
“Oh, Raine!” Sarabeth looked distraught. “Raine, I don’t know what to do, I’ve looked everywhere! I don’t know how it happened, I had my purse with me the whole time…” Suddenly she noticed Buck, and the uniform under his jacket. “Oh, Officer, thank goodness! The money is gone! I got to the car and opened my purse for my keys and the envelope wasn’t there! I think… ” She looked horrified as the truth settled over her. “I think someone picked my pocket!”
Buck said, in that calm, authoritative way he has, “Tell me exactly what happened.”
I opened my mouth to help out, but just then Maude called, “Raine, can you give us a hand here?”
I looked from the crisis in front of me to the crisis to the left of me, decided that Buck could handle this one for a few minutes by himself, and ran to help untangle Santa from a red leash, a mountain of cotton batting that had been shredded to look like snow, and a very slippery golden retriever puppy.
“We are so sorry!” I gasped, finally reeling in the little pup from underneath the chair, where he had located one last dog biscuit. “Wouldn’t you know? On your last picture of the day. You’ve been so nice to do this for us. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate it.”
But Santa was laughing good-naturedly. “Not a problem, young lady, my pleasure. Who could ask for a better job than this? Sitting around all day making children’s dreams come true? Of course, in the case of this young fellow…” His eyes actually twinkled as he looked at the puppy, who had settled into my arms and started chewing on one of my curls. “I’d say his dreams have already come true.” He clucked the puppy under the chin with his index finger and winked at me. “You know what they say—all that glitters is usually golden.”
I quickly set the puppy on the ground, holding on tightly to the leash, and Santa shook hands all around while we gushed our gratitude again. He bent to pet Cisco, and the puppy bounded up and bumped Santa on the nose, hard enough to hurt. But Santa just laughed it off, moving away through the crowd, waving and ho-ho-hoing.
“We should have paid him something,” Cassie said. “That’s the best Santa we ever had.”
“We can’t, even if we wanted to.” I saw no reason to postpone the inevitable, and my tone was glum. “The money is gone.”
I tried to explain amidst their gasps and questions, but it wasn’t easy to do with the puppy bouncing and tugging at the end of the leash and winding himself beneath my feet. Sarabeth was still talking to Buck and looking as though she was about to cry, and I knew we should go over and comfort her. I bent down to scoop up the puppy, who had found something on the ground and was methodically shredding it with his teeth. It was at that moment that I realized I no longer held the envelope with the puppy’s registration papers in my hand. “Oh, no!” I cried, and bent to snatch the half-shredded envelope from the puppy’s mouth.
“Oh dear,” said Maude, “I thought I saw him pull something out of Santa’s pocket. Is it ruined?”
I glanced at her in confusion, for in the dim light it was difficult to be certain what I had rescued from the puppy until I actually held it in my hand, and even then I stared at it for another moment before I was certain. The envelope did not contain AKC papers. “Sarabeth!” I cried excitedly, “Buck! It’s here! It’s okay, I found it!”
I finished what the puppy’s sharp teeth had started, tearing open the envelope to reveal the cash inside. A few bills fluttered to the ground when I did so, and Maude dived to pick them up before the puppy could. Sarabeth cried out loud in relief when she saw the cash. “Oh, thank goodness! It’s a miracle! I don’t know what I would have done if I’d really lost that money. Where did you find it?”
“Make sure it’s all there,” Buck suggested. “Where’d you find it, Raine?”
“She didn’t find it,” Callie explained, laughing, “the puppy did. As a matter of fact…”
I looked up from counting the money. “It’s all here,” I said, puzzled, turning the money over to Sarabeth, “plus sixty two more.”
“Eighty three,” said Maude, handing her a twenty and a one that she had pried out of the puppy’s mouth.
Sarabeth stared at the bills. “Wait a minute,” she said. “There are six twenties here. We collected mostly fives, and a few ones.” She looked up, confusion and distress marring her relief. “I don’t think this is our money.”
Maude’s expression was grim. “Plus this.”
She had a folded piece of paper in her hand, and she gave it to Buck. He looked at it, then at her. “Where did you find this?”
She nodded to the puppy, who was busily sniffing the ground for something else to chew. “I think it fell out of the envelope with some of the bills. The pup was about to chew it.”
I craned my neck to look at the paper. “From your Secret Santa,” I read out lou
d.
It took a moment for us to get it. I stared at Sarabeth. “You were helping Santa with the dachshund right after I gave you the envelope.”
I turned quickly to Maude. “And you said the puppy pulled this envelope out of Santa’s pocket?”
Buck said, “Sounds to me like I need to have a chat with Mr. Claus.”
I scanned the crowd until I spotted a familiar red hat. “There he is!”
Buck moved quickly in the direction I pointed, and I scooped up the puppy and hurried to keep up. This was one interview I had no intention of missing.
“Think about it,” I said as we wound through the revelers toward the red hat, “he was always in the right place at the right time. Hanson’s Department Store, Syms Sporting Goods, the Christmas Cantata. Every fund-raising event and public party in the county! And who would suspect Santa Claus?”
Buck glanced at me, and I could tell his mind was working along the same track. “He always left a little something behind,” he muttered.
“Only when he didn’t need it all,” I pointed out. My excitement, and my outrage, grew as I added, “And how did he know what people needed? The kids told him! He just two minutes ago said he spent all day making dreams come true. All he’d have to do is ask the right questions.”
“Hey!” Buck shouted, pressing forward, and a tall man in a red Santa hat turned. It was only Mike, one of Buck’s fellow deputies. Buck swore under his breath.