A Dog Named Christmas

by Greg Kincaid

  Over the years, I had learned that you could tell a lot about a person simply based on the way they related to Todd. I had a good feeling about Hayley.

  This was a very important decision for my son and I did not want to rush him. After finding a bench, I attempted to read a newspaper that someone had left behind while Todd walked up and down the rows of cages to find just the right companion for Christmas. The floor had recently been washed and the smell of chlorine bleach hung in the air along with various animal odors. My ears were filled with the sounds of whines, barks, and metal dog bowls scraping the concrete floor. I watched Todd, part man, part boy, move slowly up and down the aisles.

  He seemed determined to give each animal a fair audition. After ten minutes, I decided to join him. Dog picking looked like fun. Besides that, I was vaguely curious about the dogs. The stiffness that was stubbornly rooted in my right leg was barely noticeable as I got up from the bench and walked along with Todd. He stopped at each cage and made mental notes that he occasionally shared with me.

  “This one reminds me of Trudy. She is happy to see me.” Trudy belonged to my son Jonathan and was Todd’s favorite old dog. She was a Border collie with a tinge of German shepherd thrown into the mix. When she was a puppy, Jonathan would bring her out to the farm. She loved to help Todd move the sheep out of the back pasture and into the barnyard, where they were safe from the coyotes, bobcats, and foxes.

  “Could be a sheep herder extraordinaire!” I said.

  Todd moved slowly to the next cage to inspect a floppy-eared dog that wouldn’t bother to amble over and greet us. She was liver-colored with white splotches on her chest and front legs, with the distinct black muzzle of a coonhound.

  “She’s quiet,” Todd observed.

  “Yep.” I read out loud from the tag at the top of her cage. “The shelter named her Sally. This says she is an eight-year-old female coonhound and spaniel mix. Spayed. Can sit and roll over on command.” I turned to Todd and said, “Hey, that dog takes orders better than some of my children.”

  Todd rolled his eyes at me. At this rate we would be here for a month, so I returned to the bench and the day-old newspaper that was about to become cage liner.

  After wading through the sports and weather sections, I glanced up. Todd had progressed past only two more cages. He looked so much in his element. It occurred to me that if there were angels for animals, then surely Todd was one. I realized that some dog was going to be very lucky. Hayley worked her way back to check on Todd and seemed to like the way he studied each animal. She followed along and the two of them worked as a team in this most important selection. She didn’t try to push him toward one of the less adoptable dogs. Instead, she tried to give explanations for every dog’s condition.

  As they stopped at each cage, Hayley encouraged Todd to get a closer look. My guess was that Hayley was spending more time with Todd than she did with the other visitors to the shelter.

  “This is Baron. He appears to be a German short-haired pointer. He’s lived in a cage most of his life. His owner thought that because he was a hunting dog, it would ruin him to run about the yard. He needs to be socialized. You know, spend more time around people. He could be a good pet, but he’ll need a very patient and kind owner to teach him to trust humans again.”

  She opened the cage door. “He’s scared,” Todd said as he wrapped his arms around the trembling dog. Almost immediately, the dog settled down and began to wag his tail, sensing that he was safe and in good hands.

  Hayley looked at the tag on the door and said, “He’s only been here four days. It takes some dogs longer than others to become comfortable. He seems to have taken to you right away. Dogs are good judges of character.”

  “Hayley, why do some of the dogs seem excited to see me and others don’t?”

  “That’s a good question. Some dogs are still stuck on their old owners. They aren’t ready yet to accept a new family or friend. Every dog in here has a perfect human match. There’s not a dog in here that won’t act excited when the right person comes along.”

  “How come those dogs are separated?” He pointed to an area set apart from where they were by a chain-link fence with a gate and a sign that said DO NOT ENTER.

  “They’re in quarantine, not suitable for adoption.”

  “What’s quarantine?” he asked.

  “There are state laws about dogs that bite. They have to be isolated to make sure they do not have rabies.”

  Todd walked over to the fence and peered into the quarantine pens. “Why do those dogs all look the same?”

  Hayley’s expression darkened. “Most are pit bulls that the sheriff had to bring in because they have been mistreated. How a man treats a dog, Todd, says a lot about what’s in his heart.”

  Before he could ask any more questions, Hayley led Todd in a happier direction, toward a safer dog. “This big girl we call Pork Chop, because she is a little overweight.” Pork Chop was a mixed-breed big black dog.

  “Her owner came in to claim her last week, and when we told him there was a fifty-dollar boarding fee, he told us that he was going out to his truck to get a check. We waited for him, but he just drove off and never came back.”

  Todd stared at her in disbelief. “Why didn’t he come and get his dog? She was waiting for him. Was there something wrong with that man?”

  “I’d say so, Todd. I’d say something seriously wrong. Shame of it is that large black dogs, like Pork Chop, are the hardest to place with new owners. We call it the ‘big black dog syndrome.’”

  “Why’s that?” Todd asked.

  “Because there are so many of them; supply and demand.”

  Hayley reached the next cage and said, “Now, what is different about this dog?”

  Todd stared and said, “He’s little.”

  “That’s right. Did you notice that he is the only little dog in the shelter?”

  Todd looked around at the cages and asked, “Why is he the only one?”

  “Well, we call them ‘squat-and-pee’ dogs.’ They’re house dogs. They are let out briefly, they squat, pee, and come back inside. Large dogs are left outside, often for hours. They break out of fences and end up here.”

  “What kind is he?” Todd asked.

  “He’s a Jack Russell mix.”

  “I like ‘squat-and-pee dog’ better!” I chimed in from my perch on the bench.

  Todd frowned at my attempt at humor and then stopped in front of the only empty cage in the shelter and asked, “What happened to that one?”

  Hayley smiled. “Probably out with a handler for a walk or grooming.”

  “Grooming?”

  “We do lots of things, Todd, to help the animals be adopted. You might notice that we never allow their waste to stay in their cages. We’ve learned that people will walk right by a cage that has been fouled and that’s not fair to the dog, is it?”

  “No.” Todd shook his head.

  “We also have learned that people won’t adopt a dog that is too scared. So we work a great deal with frightened dogs so that they welcome visitors. We all know that people pick dogs based on how they look. Polly, for instance, was here for thirty-nine days. Forty days is a very important date for these dogs. They really need to be adopted by then. When Polly was still here after thirty-five, we were worried. She was a very happy and friendly dog, so we called a lady here in town, a volunteer groomer. She came in and gave Polly a haircut, a shampoo, and bought her a brand-new collar with a pink ribbon on it. She did a great job. Yesterday was Polly’s thirty-ninth day and …”—she grabbed Todd’s arm excitedly—“someone adopted her this morning! So, Polly is at her new home.”

  I was hoping that Todd would not ask the significance of forty days and was pleased that Hayley did not come right out and say what happened to these dogs if they did not find a home for them. Todd would have been troubled by the ugly truth. The concept troubled me too. I got up from the bench again and quietly followed behind Todd and Hayley for another half hou
r of detailed dog inspections.

  It was approaching the lunch hour before they had looked at all the dogs and Todd heard all their stories. I was surprised that he had not yet made his selection. I wasn’t sure if he had not found the right dog or if he just wanted to take them all.

  “Do you want to see one more?” Hayley asked.

  She led us into an area at the very back of the shelter where a few empty cages sat. The only occupied cage held a large black lab retriever mix. Another “big black dog problem,” it appeared.

  Hayley offered her comments. “He’s an older dog. You can tell by the gray around his muzzle. He’s quiet, not a barker. We don’t allow the dogs to be adopted for the first three days. This gives the owner a chance to claim their pet if it is just lost, but after the third day, the dog becomes the property of the shelter. Starting today, he’s ours.”

  “What’s his name?” I heard Todd ask as Hayley opened the cage door.

  She looked around the door for information, but finding none, she shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t know, I guess he just showed up. They do that sometimes. He hasn’t been here long enough for us to give him a name.”

  Todd seemed to hesitate. I had a good feeling about this dog. He sat, patiently aware, without jumping, barking, or whining, like many of the other dogs did when the cage door opened. He seemed focused, ready to receive a command, but his wagging tail showed that he was also pleased to see Todd.

  Perhaps I was becoming a little bored by the selection process or I felt sorry for him because he was new to the shelter. I walked toward Todd and put my hand on his arm to get his attention. “Should we look him over?”

  Todd didn’t say no, so Hayley had him out of the cage in an instant. She gave the command “Sit,” and he did so. The dog waited quietly while Todd ran his fingers through the gray and black hair on the nape of his neck. Then Todd stooped down so that he was at the dog’s eye level and stared into his face for a few moments. He had warm green eyes that showed a certain patient wisdom.

  After Todd sized him up, Hayley placed a collar around the dog’s neck. He suddenly became excited, as if he knew he had been chosen. She snapped a leash on the collar and led him a few feet in one direction and then a few feet back the other way. He did not act like an animal that had spent much time in a cage. Hayley then issued several commands accompanied by a gesture. First, she held her palm outward, like a traffic cop directing a stop, and then she slowly bent her wrist so her fingertips pointed down toward the floor and again issued the command “Sit.” The dog sat. Then she pushed the air down like she was cramming trash into a bag and said, “Down.” The dog slid down onto his stomach. She said, “Stay,” dropped the leash, and walked away. After she had taken ten steps, she turned to look back. He had not budged.

  “He minds well, though he seems to have some age-related stiffness in his haunches.”

  Todd bent down, petted the dog, and ran his hands over his ribs. “He’s thin. Is he eating?”

  “He’s eating. I bet he’s been on the road for a while and missed a few meals.”

  Todd parted his fur and found a few rough spots, including a cut that had only recently scabbed over. He motioned to Hayley to look at the wound.

  She kneeled down for a closer look. “We’ll put something on it.” She then looked approvingly at Todd. He had obviously noticed something important that even she had missed.

  Todd stood up, folded his arms across his chest as if he were a discriminating and seasoned buyer of fine purebreds, and asked me, “What do you think, Dad?”

  I walked around the dog twice, noticing four legs, a tail, and all the other required appendages. “He looks excellent to me,” I offered.

  Todd grinned happily and pointed confidently at the animal. “We’ll take him.” Finally, the dog jumped up from his resting spot, as if on command, and edged toward the exit. Hayley grabbed the leash and held him in place.

  I did not waste any time in confirming the terms of our arrangement. “When do we bring him back, Todd?”

  “We bring him back on the twenty-sixth, Dad. That’s when Christmas ends.” I looked to Hayley for reassurance and she smiled and shook her head approvingly.

  Todd and Mary Ann had gone into town a few days earlier and had used some of Todd’s allowance money to purchase a leash and collar. Given the time of the year, Mary Ann suggested a green collar and a red leash. They had selected a medium-sized collar, which Todd pulled out of his coat pocket and easily slipped around the dog’s neck, having removed the old one first. Hayley shut the cage door behind us and Todd led the dog back into the reception area on the festive-looking red leash.

  Passing all the other dogs on the way out, I felt a little sorry that they were not adopted for Christmas too. There was a fleeting moment when I considered taking two, but my reputation had to be considered, so I moved on. We filled out the paperwork and Hayley put some ointment on the cut.

  After thanking her, we left the shelter with our new friend. The crisp winter wind caught my breath, but I managed to ask, “Do you want to name him?”

  “Already did,” Todd said to my surprise as he hurried toward the truck.

  “What?”

  “I named him ‘Christmas.’” Todd opened the truck door and Christmas instantly jumped in. Todd climbed in next to the dog and I got in behind the wheel, oddly at ease with this warm furry presence comfortably wedged between my son and me. As I started the ignition, the radio came to life, a song filling the cold Kansas air.

  I looked at Todd and the dog and said, “That’s a good name. That’s a real good name.”

  IN THE TRUCK on the way home, the dog was well behaved. I suspected that it was not his first ride in a pickup truck. But for the occasional wag of his tail, he did not fidget or move around, nor whine or growl. Todd massaged the dog’s muscles and ran his hands through his coat. This must have felt good, for Christmas turned around several times and gave Todd an approving lick. I couldn’t resist reaching over and patting him a few times myself. He seemed very content with us.

  “Where do you think we should keep Christmas this week?” I asked Todd.

  Todd looked at me, surprised. “In my room.”

  “I was thinking maybe we should put him in the chicken coop to guard the hens. How about that?”

  “Nah, Dad, chickens don’t need a guard.”

  “Well, how about at the bottom of the silo? I have seen some rats down there and I bet he could keep ’em out of there.”

  “Nah, Dad, I think my room works.”

  “You did clean it up, didn’t you, Todd?”

  “Six sacks. I took out six sacks.”

  “That’ll make enough room for him, won’t it? Now, you’re sure you don’t want that elephant?”

  Todd laughed at the idea. “Nope. I like Christmas.”

  As we passed back through Crossing Trails, I noticed a trickle of Christmas shoppers exiting various stores with wrapped presents or shopping bags in hand. There was a movement by the local chamber of commerce to keep shoppers in town, but I wondered if their campaign was working. Once on the highway, making our way back to the farm, it occurred to me that there had been many times when I just did not know what to get Todd for Christmas. As he sat beside me with that dog, I knew that this year was different.

  When we arrived home, Mary Ann met us at the back door. “What took so long? I was beginning to worry about you two.”

  “Dog picking is hard work. It takes time.” Mary Ann knew that Todd could be very deliberate on matters that were important to him, so she dropped the subject as the three of us came in out of the cold, through the back porch door and into the kitchen.

  Todd led the dog around in circles. Christmas appeared to be just as well trained and obedient for us as he was for Hayley. He heeled appropriately, and when Todd stopped, he promptly sat down beside him and waited for the next cue. Todd had apparently paid close attention to Hayley and repeated the same series of commands for his mother’s benef
it.

  Mary Ann carried on like she had just witnessed the construction of the Eighth Wonder of the World. “George, look how the dog minds. Look how Todd can work with him. Isn’t it amazing!”

  “Incredible,” I muttered.

  Mary Ann leaned over so that she could look directly into Christmas’s face and exclaimed, “He has green eyes. I love dogs with green eyes.”

  “He was the best one at the shelter,” Todd said, giving Christmas a pat and removing the leash. The dog’s tail thumped the floor as he wagged it, a sound that would become familiar in the coming week.

  “Todd, that dog could not have been at the shelter. He is perfect.”

  “Mom, can I tell you about the shelter?”

  “Why, of course, sweetie. Tell me all about it.”

  Todd was as animated as I had seen him in years. He grabbed his mother’s hand and led her, the dog right behind them, to the kitchen table, where the two of them sat, with Christmas at their feet. Todd told his mother all about the shelter. He described virtually every dog, while Mary Ann patiently listened. I leaned against the wall and just observed, experiencing the whole trip again, this time through Todd’s eyes.

  While they talked, I opened doors and rummaged through kitchen cabinets until I found two old steel bowls shoved in the very back as if waiting for me to unearth them all these years later: Tucker’s old dog dishes. Somehow I felt comfort and not sadness.

  I ran some water from the tap into one bowl and put it under the table for Christmas. I put some of the dog food that Todd and Mary Ann had purchased in the other bowl and set it next to the water. Christmas, not wanting to be rude, gently removed a few morsels from the bowl and quietly nibbled away while Todd and Mary Ann gossiped about his canine cousins at the shelter.