WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS

copyright © Kathy Anne Pippig

It was December 22, a Saturday, and the last weekend before Christmas. She was getting some last minute shopping done. After making her purchases she walked with her son over to the cottage covered in artificial snow that sat in the middle of the shopping mall. She had promised her son that he could visit Santa.

Her son was eight years old; tall and lanky like his father. He had dark auburn hair and gray-green eyes, a sprinkle of freckles on his cheeks and a wistful smile. His voice was gruff for a boy so young, prompting many folks to refer to him as the "little man."

Since his father's untimely and sudden death seven months earlier he had tried to fill his daddy's place by volunteering for extra duties around the ranch and his once-boyish mannerisms quickly gave way to an assumed adult demeanor.

Juggling her packages she gently prodded her son forward when the elf assistant informed them it was her son's turn to sit with Santa.

She couldn't hear what the shopping mall Santa and her son were saying, but she couldn't help notice her son's expression. His gray-green eyes sparkled with unshed tears and his lips trembled as he nodded his head in response to something Santa said. An elf with a camera told her son to smile as he snapped a couple of shots. Her son looked past the camera. His thoughts miles distant. The only one who smiled was Santa.

Once in the car she asked her son what he had told Santa he wanted for Christmas. He turned his head toward the window. His words bounced off the glass with a dull echo. "I want to tell daddy I love him. I want him to hug me. and tell me, 'I love you, buddy!' when he tucks me in at night."

She tried to draw a breath past the painful lump in her throat. "I know, honey. We weren't able to say goodbye. We weren't there to hug him up and savor his goodness one last time...I'm sorry, hon."

He hung his head. "Me, too," he muttered in his gruff little boy voice. The hour it took to get home was quiet.

***

That evening as they decorated the tree a storm crept out over the flat range, groaning with snow laden clouds and whining winds. Soon wet heavy snow was pounding at their windows and icy fingers of the wind crawled under the doors and into the house.

"We'd better check on the horses. I'm concerned this storm will spook the mare who's due to foal any day now. And I want to make sure the chickens are locked up good and tight."

"Okay, Mom. I'll check on the chickens." He picked up the boxes of ornaments from the floor and placed them on the nearby couch. "We can get to the rest of this later."

She cast a proud glance at her son. "Yes, my little man. We can." She grabbed their coats and scarves from the coatrack. They bundled up and went outside.

The flood light from the roof of the barn was little help as the gusting wind tossed thick folds of snow everywhere. Pushing against the wet and cold she reached the barn, threw back the retaining bar and went inside. She flicked the lights on and took a relaxing breath. It was suddenly more quiet and calm within. She scanned the stalls. All was peaceful. The horses were fine. The pregnant mare dropped her head over the stall half-door and huffed a welcome.

He opened the door to the coops and warm air brushed 'round him. The heat lamps were on bathing the chickens in a red glow. They were settled in for the night. Some sleeping, while others clucked softly in the shadows. He pulled his scarf tightly around his neck as he shut and bolted the coop up. As he turned towards the barn he was stopped short by a sound.

There, in the blustery snow was a dark shape. A whimpering sound issued from the quaking creature. The boy gingerly stepped closer. He saw a black ball of fur. The head trembled as it whined piteously.

The wind died down and the boy got a better look at the animal. "Come here, pooch." He coaxed softly. He squatted down nearer the dog and held his hand out. The black dog stood slowly, then reached over and licked the boy's hand. Holding his arms out the boy called the dog to him. In a bound the dog crawled into his arms--all the while licking the boy's face.

He met his mother just outside the door to the barn. She gasped sharply when she espied her son and the creature in his arms.

"What do you have there?" She knew, but she was caught by surprise.

"Can we go inside?" he implored, staring down at the dog. "He's freezing out here."