Santa's Puppy

by Catherine Hapka

  But when they caught up to it, there was no sign of Peppermint Bark. Mary and Joseph waved calmly to the crowd, while the sheep munched the hay in their pen and let out an occasional baa! Samantha and the two boys were marching along on the far side with Lumberjack Lou and the larger animals.

  “Come on,” Holly said, falling back just long enough to dash across the street behind the float.

  Samantha looked surprised when she saw them. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “The dog,” Chris panted, so out of breath that he could hardly get the words out. “Peppermint Bark. Where is he?”

  The teenagers all looked confused. “You mean that little white dog?” the moped guy said. “I thought he was with you.”

  “You didn’t grab him?” Holly sounded less out of breath than Chris. He figured all those years of playing soccer and running track had paid off for her. “But we thought we saw your moped . . .”

  “Grab the dog?” Samantha looked more perplexed than ever. “Of course not!”

  “My moped?” The teenager looked alarmed now. “Dudes, I told you I thought I saw it speed by! What if it got, like, moped-jacked?”

  “You saw it?” Chris panted. “Where’d it go?”

  The kid pointed straight ahead. “That way!”

  The other teenage boy nodded. “We figured it was, like, a police moped taking a VIP up to the judges’ float or something.”

  “We’ve got to catch up,” Chris said, gasping for breath.

  “You guys look beat,” Holly said, glancing from Chris to Ivy, who also looked tired. “I can try to run ahead and look for him while you walk and rest if you want.”

  Chris shook his head, too out of breath to respond. He couldn’t give up now. What if his sister let him down, the way she had so often lately? Still, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to run fast enough to catch up to that moped . . .

  Just then the camel let out a loud snort and stopped. Plop! A large pile of manure landed in the snow, steaming in the cold night air.

  “Oh man,” Lumberjack Lou muttered. “Better clean that up . . .”

  He switched both lead ropes to one hand, then reached up to grab a bag out of the pack on his back. Chris blinked as a crazy idea popped into his head.

  “Here, let me hold that for you,” he said, grabbing the donkey’s lead out of the bearded man’s hand. Quick as a wink, Chris vaulted up onto the creature’s back and gave him a stout kick with both heels. “Giddyup!” Chris yelled.

  With a loud bray of alarm, the donkey flattened his ears and took off at a gallop.

  20

  Fa-La-La Hee Haw

  “Whoa!” Chris cried, scrabbling to cling to the donkey’s tufty mane. “I didn’t mean you had to go quite this fast . . .”

  Chris glanced over his shoulder. Lumberjack Lou was shaking his fist, trying to hold on to the suddenly prancing camel. Just then the donkey veered to the left, and Chris turned forward again, totally focused on not falling off.

  The donkey let out another loud bray, then stampeded into a group of Mexican folk dancers dressed in bright holiday costumes. “Cuidado!” one of the dancers yelled. “Look out, everyone!”

  “Sorry!” Chris yelled back, hanging on for dear life as the donkey burst out the far side of the group. “Please, donkey—turn back and follow the parade! I have to get to Peppermint Bark!”

  Suddenly there was a faint bark from somewhere up ahead. It was Peppermint Bark!

  “I’m coming, buddy!” Chris yelled. Just then the donkey leaped over a curb, and Chris gritted his teeth and wrapped his arms around the creature’s neck to keep from bouncing off. “At least, I’m trying . . .”

  There was more barking. Chris tried to hear what Peppermint Bark was saying, but couldn’t make out the words over the noise of the parade and the moped motor and the donkey’s galloping hoofbeats—not to mention the pounding of Chris’s own heart.

  Then Chris realized the donkey had slowed his breakneck pace, at least slightly. His large ears were pitched toward the sound of the barks. He seemed to be listening . . .

  Suddenly he let out a bray so loud that it rattled Chris’s eardrums. A second later Peppermint Bark barked again, and this time Chris heard his words: “Hey, Chris, Paco says he’ll help us!” the little dog was calling. “Hold on tight!”

  “Paco,” Chris said, smiling as he realized that must be the donkey’s name—and that the donkey had just spoken to Peppermint Bark. “I guess you’ve got the Christmas spirit too!”

  Then Chris stopped talking, since the donkey had turned to canter alongside the parade. Within seconds they’d caught up to the moped, which was stuck in the midst of some enthusiastic flag twirlers and cheerleaders wearing the red and green colors of Poinsettia High School.

  “One, two, three, four, who’s the guy we’re rooting for?” one of the cheerleaders cried.

  “Santa! Santa! Santa!” the rest of the group chanted.

  Paco slowed to a walk to keep pace. Chris squinted through the high schoolers, but it was hard to catch more than a glimpse of the moped through all the movement. Still, he was pretty sure he could see Peppermint Bark’s white fur.

  “Okay, Paco,” Chris told the donkey. “We’re going in . . .”

  Paco snorted loudly, then turned—and charged straight into the pep squad! The girls squealed in alarm and leaped aside, doing backflips and cartwheels to get out of the way. Chris winced, hoping nobody got hurt. But the donkey was more sure-footed than Chris expected, dodging the slower girls and leaping over a dropped baton.

  “Peppermint Bark!” Chris blurted out as they reached the moped. The donkey barely slowed down as they swept past—and the little white dog leaped up into Chris’s arms!

  “Chris! You came!” Peppermint Bark exclaimed. “I tried to tell those guys I needed to say goodbye before we head back to—”

  “Never mind that,” Chris interrupted. “Can you tell this donkey to go back to the square? Because I saw a portal!”

  “You did?” Peppermint Bark cried. “Then let’s go!”

  Soon they were galloping back into Poinsettia Square. It was getting late, and many festival-goers had left, either to watch the parade or to go home to bed. Still, the place was crowded enough that Paco’s arrival didn’t go unnoticed. From every direction came shouts of “Runaway donkey!” and “Heads up!”

  Chris held on tightly as Paco skidded to a stop at the base of the huge town Christmas tree, leaving tracks in the snow. “Thanks, Paco!” Peppermint Bark barked as he and Chris jumped down, trying to ignore the startled stares of several people who were hanging ornaments nearby.

  The donkey brayed, and Chris almost thought he understood what Paco was saying: You’re welcome, and merry Christmas!

  Chris gave Paco a pat, then gestured to Peppermint Bark. “Come on, we have to get up to the top,” Chris called. “I’ll climb and carry you.”

  “Okay, Chris,” Peppermint Bark said. “But maybe we should wait for—”

  “No time—we don’t want this one to close too.” Chris glanced around, realizing that Peppermint Bark was right—Holly and Ivy should be here for this. For one thing, Chris was still tired from all the running, and donkey riding wasn’t as easy as it looked. It would have been nice to have some help getting Peppermint Bark to the top of the tree . . .

  But the girls were nowhere in sight, and there was no time to wait for them. Not this close to midnight, with the portal ready to close at any time. It was all up to Chris. Tired or not, he would just have to do his best . . .

  Peppermint Bark sniffed the air. “You guys are right, Chris!” he barked. “I can smell it now—there’s definitely a portal up there!”

  Chris wasn’t sure what Peppermint Bark meant by “you guys,” since Holly and Ivy hadn’t even seen the portal. But that didn’t matter right now. “I know,” Chris said. “Now, let’s get you home!”

  He raced toward the tree, already looking for the best branch to start climbing. There were se
veral people hanging ornaments on the other side of the tree, but nobody on this side at the moment. He was only steps away when a tall, lean figure stepped out to block his path.

  “Stop right there, young man!” Mr. Brooks commanded.

  Chris skidded to a stop just in time to avoid crashing into the man. He goggled up at him. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Chris blurted out. “I thought . . .”

  His mind flashed to the judges’ float. Why wasn’t Mr. Brooks on it?

  But it didn’t really matter. He was here now, and he didn’t look happy.

  “I thought I told you to keep a leash on that dog,” Mr. Brooks said, glaring at Peppermint Bark.

  Chris gulped. Dad’s candy cane tie still dangled around the little dog’s neck, but he seemed to have lost the Santa-print belt during his wild parade experience.

  “Um . . .” Chris began, shooting a worried look toward the top of the tree. It was still snowing, and he couldn’t really see the portal at all. But Peppermint Bark had just smelled it, so Chris knew it was still there—if only they could reach it before it was too late . . .

  “Well?” Mr. Brooks demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you have to say for yourself, Christopher? Shall we go find your parents and discuss this rebellious behavior with them, hmm?”

  For a split second, Chris was ready to give up. He was exhausted, and nobody disobeyed Mr. Brooks—not even the mayor. What had Chris been thinking, anyway? He wasn’t a rebel, or an action star, or a superhero . . .

  But then he glanced down at Peppermint Bark. Santa’s puppy gazed up at him, his brown eyes worried but trusting. Chris knew he couldn’t let his friend down.

  “Here’s what I have to say,” he told Mr. Brooks, quickly unzipping his parka about halfway. “Pardon me—coming through!”

  Chris swooped down, grabbed Peppermint Bark, and dashed past the sputtering Mr. Brooks. “Stop right there!” the man cried.

  Chris ignored him. “Hold on,” he told Peppermint Bark, shoving the little dog into the front of his parka and zipping it shut. Then, before Mr. Brooks could catch up, Chris grabbed a prickly fir branch and started to climb.

  21

  O Christmas Tree

  Happy ran as fast as he could, but even so, it was hard to keep up with Juniper. They’d ditched the moped at the entrance to the town square, and now they were running toward the beautiful big Christmas tree at the center.

  “There he is!” Juniper cried, pointing. “The naughty boy is climbing the tree with him!”

  “Oh!” Happy panted. “Maybe he’s not naughty after all. Maybe he’s taking Peppermint Bark to the portal!”

  Juniper slowed down just long enough to turn her head and glare at him. “What would a human child know about portals?” she snapped. “But hurry—it could close at any moment, just like the others. If I get trapped in this ridiculous place for the entire year, I’ll never forgive that pup . . .”

  Still muttering under her breath, she ran to the tree and started climbing. Happy followed, shooting a curious glance toward a skinny older man who was shaking his fist up at the festively decorated tree.

  “Be happy,” the elf called down to the man. “It’s Christmas!”

  Then Happy focused on his climbing, trying to keep up with Juniper. She was moving fast, dodging Christmas ornaments of all shapes and sizes, from huge glass balls to handmade craft-stick snowflakes. Happy wished he had time to stop and admire them all.

  I don’t think being stuck here would be all bad, he thought, glancing out at the town, with its twinkling lights everywhere and beautiful snow just beginning to coat the roads and rooftops. It’s almost as nice as the North Pole.

  “Happy!” the other elf shouted. “Keep up!”

  “Coming, Juniper.” Happy grabbed the next branch, following her upward.

  They caught up to the boy and dog a few yards below the portal. The boy was breathing hard as he hauled himself steadily from one branch to the next.

  “Don’t look down, Chris,” Peppermint Bark barked. “We’re almost there!”

  “Stop!” Juniper shouted. “Give me that puppy!”

  The boy flinched, so startled that he almost lost his grip on the branch. “Who’s there?” he cried, peering down.

  “It’s okay!” Happy called from his spot just behind Juniper. “We’re here to help. We just have to—”

  Juniper didn’t give him time to finish. “We’re taking the dog!” she snapped. Quick as a wink, she scrambled up and past the boy, grabbing Peppermint Bark as she went.

  “Hey!” the boy cried. “Wait!”

  He lurched upward, trying to grab the little dog back. Happy gasped as he saw the boy’s foot slip on the snow-slick branch . . .

  * * *

  “Aaaah!” Chris cried, grabbing for another branch and missing. Even as he felt himself falling backwards, he saw the small woman—an elf?—and Peppermint Bark leaping upward toward the portal.

  “I’ve got you!” Suddenly strong hands grabbed Chris by the collar of his parka. Tiny hands. Chris found himself dangling high above Poinsettia Square, held only by a smiling little person clinging to the tree by his pointy-toed boots.

  “You’re . . . you’re an elf,” Chris blurted out. “Like, a real one!”

  “That’s right—Happy’s my name, and toy making’s my game.” The elf hauled Chris up until the boy could grab a sturdy branch.

  “Thanks,” Chris said, already looking up. He gasped when he saw that the other elf had carried Peppermint Bark almost all the way up to the portal.

  “Don’t fret,” Happy said. “Juniper’s taking Peppermint Bark home again.” He glanced upward and lowered his voice to a soft squeak. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, but it’s true.”

  “I know,” Chris said. “I mean, I see that now.” Suddenly all those weird elf sightings made sense—in the bushes outside the post office, at Jingle Junction, and riding that moped through the parade. Of course someone at the North Pole had missed Peppermint Bark! Of course they weren’t planning to leave him here for a whole year!

  But there was no time to think about that. Chris grabbed a higher branch, trying to haul himself up with arms that suddenly felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles.

  “Wait!” he cried. “I just want to say goodbye . . .”

  Happy gasped. “Oh, of course you do!” he exclaimed. “Hang on—I’ll take you.”

  The elf leaped upward, grabbing Chris as he went by. He jumped from branch to branch, heading for the portal. Chris’s head spun as he found himself upside down, bumping against scratchy fir boughs and briefly catching a foot in the light cord before shaking it loose . . . Would they get there in time?

  “Juniper, wait!” Happy cried in his high, squeaky voice.

  But the other elf didn’t pause or look back. She was at the portal now. Holding Peppermint Bark tightly with both arms, she leaped right into the swirling vortex . . .

  SLURP!

  Both elf and dog disappeared! Chris gasped. “No-o-o-o!” he cried.

  “Juniper!” Happy shouted, still moving upward, faster now than ever.

  Suddenly Chris felt something—like a force field grabbing him, pulling him upward along with the little elf. The portal loomed right in front of them; snow and twinkling lights were swirling, swirling . . . Chris was enveloped by the strong scents of gingerbread and pinecones, and Christmas music filled the air . . .

  22

  Portal Panic

  “There he is!” Holly shouted, pointing. “I can’t believe it—he’s climbing the Christmas tree!”

  Ivy caught up, panting hard. “Oh my gosh,” she said breathlessly, peering ahead through the falling snow. “He is!”

  Holly just stood there for a second, staring up at her brother. He looked really small way up there, more than halfway up the huge tree. When she glanced toward the top of the tree, she gasped.

  “He was right—there’s a portal!” she exclaimed, blinking away a snowflake that had landed
on her eyelashes. Then she frowned. “Wait—am I seeing things, or are there some other people up there?”

  “Where?” Ivy wiped her eyes with her glove. “I can’t see anything through all this snow!”

  “Never mind—come on. We have to get him.” Holly raced toward the tree, not taking her eyes off her brother. “I mean, he’s getting really close to that—”

  She cut herself off with another gasp and stopped. Chris had just disappeared!

  “Oh no!” she yelled. “I think he fell into the portal!”

  “What?” Ivy looked horrified. “But . . .”

  Holly was already running again. She had to save her brother!

  But more than a dozen people were milling around at the base of the tree. Some were hanging ornaments, others were watching the snow, and a woman was petting the donkey, who was now calmly nibbling the lower branches. Holly spotted her soccer coach in the crowd, along with the Oumas, Mrs. Kasabian, and a few other friends and neighbors.

  Then Holly noticed one more familiar face. A very annoyed-looking Mr. Brooks was stomping toward her.

  “Stop, Holly Kerstman!” he cried, pointing a knobby-knuckled finger at her. “Do you know what your brother just did?”

  “Uh-huh.” Holly craned her neck to look upward. “That’s why I’m here, okay?”

  She tried to dodge past, but Mr. Brooks grabbed her by the shoulder. His fingers felt like a crab’s pincers digging in through her coat and scarf.

  “I said stop,” he warned.

  The other people near the tree had noticed the commotion by then. Mrs. Kasabian hobbled closer with her walker.

  “What’s all the hubbub?” she asked. “The kids are just here to add their ornaments, yes?”

  “No,” Mr. Brooks growled.

  “Um . . .” Ivy said uncertainly.

  But Holly had just seen her opportunity. “Yes!” she cried. “That’s exactly why we’re here!”

  “I knew it.” Mrs. Kasabian nodded and smiled at Holly. “It’s so nice to see young people with true Christmas spirit!”