Dorothy Brush "Random Thoughts" Published Dec. 24, 2003

Santa had a line on a puppy

The calendar read four days till Christmas. There were still cookies and candy to make, the tree to trim, gifts to wrap and some to buy.

Four children plus Christmas meant a bent budget and experience had taught me it was wise to do some toy shopping very late after the merchants panicked as the clock ticked closer and closer to Christmas Eve. Because the lists penciled weeks before took on a new look almost daily, this late shopping covered the current requests at slashed prices - my Christmas bonus.

All these details cluttered my mind and I really wasn't listening when the little girl in our family said, "Santa Claus is going to bring me a puppy." At the word puppy my standard programmed response turned on and might well have been preceded by the words, "This is a recording."

For the hundredth time I repeated, "Now dear, you know we can't have a puppy. We live on a busy street and a dog would have to be tied all the time that's why Daddy has said no."

The little girl just turned five said in her most matter-of -fact voice, "I know, Mommy, but Santa Claus is going to bring him anyway." I patted her on the head, then turned to more important matters as she ran out to play.

It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve. My taut nerves were beginning to relax as I checked off one item after another from the must do list. I really felt I had it made. Just then the back door slammed shut as our oldest son, age 11, came in bringing a whoosh of cold air and snow with him. His face, pink from the cold temperatures, was serious.

"Mom, do you know what we are doing out in the garage?" My nerves tightened again.

"What?"

"We're building a dog house for the puppy."

"You're what?" I shrilled.

"He even has a name and it's painted over the door. Frisky - that's the name she had me put on it." His eyes mirrored our dilemma and he said, "Mom, you had better call Dad."

I heeded my son's advice and a little girl's faith started wheels turning. Our town was too small for an animal shelter so our family problem solver started telephoning friends and finally found one who remembered a farmer had been in his store and during a casual conversation had mentioned his dog had just had pups.

By nightfall the crises had eased and there was a tiny, wiggly, black-and-white puppy in our Santa's office. After the little girl was tucked into bed and dreaming visions of sugar plums, the pup was brought home to fulfill its mission.

Lonely and frightened without its mother its pitiful yips and whines stopped only when, once again, big brother took over. He left his warm bed to spend the rest of that special Christmas Eve on the floor with the puppy cuddled close.

Now the little girl is a mature woman and the puppy is gone after living a long happy life but never a Christmas passes that the story of the Christmas puppy goes untold. Hugging the expected furry animal, her brown eyes sparkled and she told her silly parents, "I told you Santa was bringing me a puppy."

But on that joyous morn I heard Another's words, "Oh, ye of little faith."

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Dorothy Copus Brush is a Fairfield Glade resident and Crossville Chronicle staffwriter whose column is published each Wednesday.