«*» RUKHSANA«*» CHRISTMAS ANGEL

 

CHRISTMAS ANGEL "Doesn't Santa Claus always have helpers?" I turned and asked Butchy, my first dog and my best friend. "Perhaps this year," I continued, "we need to help Santa with a special gift for our neighbor, Mrs. Launderville." We were seeking to become generous gift-givers this year, Christmas 1964. Butchy and I were both 15, and we had grown up together. She had been a baby shower gift from a family friend to my parents. And rather than being "just a dog," she was more like my missing sibling as I was an only child. Mrs. Launderville lived next door to us in the first floor flat. Her dog, Molly, had passed away due to old age almost a year ago on Christmas Eve. She had been devastated as they were inseparable companions. And I thought what a good way to show our neighborly concern by selecting a new dog for her as a gift. Butchy and I would scout out the local animal shelter in hopes that the perfect four-legged friend would be there waiting for her. "What do you think, Girl? Do you think it's a good idea?" Butchy cocked her head in agreement but did not speak. Instead she licked my face. As my father always told me, "James," he would say, "the best therapy in the world is a dog licking your face." We got up and energetically pushed open the front door ready to run our idea past my mother. The house smelled like an Italian Hoagie. The aroma of freshly fried garlic and wild mushrooms assaulted our senses immediately as we entered. Supper was well on its way. My mother, Mary, had the kitchen table engaged in the dynamics for making a meal for the family. Butchy was always included. Each dish was extraordinary in the preparation that my mother gave to it and each required her undivided attention. "Hey, Mom, what do you think about Butchy and I getting Mrs. Launderville a gift this year for Christmas? Just from us." "Just what kind of present did you have in mind?" she asked as she added the Italian sausage to the pan causing a sizzle to stir in the air above the stove. "Well you know her dog passed away last year. Don't you think it's time for her to have a new companion to keep her company?" Butchy put her front feet up on one of the kitchen chairs. This was her way of relaying to my mother that she would like a treat, especially food. "Well, what do you think?" I asked again. "James, you know you should ask your father. He knows more about that sort of thing than I do. How do you know she even wants another dog?" she asked while stirring the vegetables with her old wooden spoon. "How can she not want another new friend to be at her side, just like I have Butchy. She's old and she needs a buddy," I continued. While growing up I always thought everyone over 30 was old, but Mrs. Launderville was actually in her eighties even though her spry demeanor certainly gave no indication of her true age. Butchy put her feet back up on the chair seat again hoping for one more morsel to tide her over until supper. Another bite of sausage was handed off to my dog. "So where's Dad?" I asked in hopes of getting this gift search underway. "He's in the attic untangling the Christmas lights for the front porch. You might not want to bother him just now while he's busy," she added, "you know how he is." Butchy and I climbed the narrow steps to the attic hearing the Italian grumblings long before we reached the top. My father, James Sr., sat in the far corner pulling a string of lights out of a large cardboard box in which they had been stored. "Dad," I shouted so he would know we were up there, "can we talk to you (I always included Butchy)? We would like to get Mrs. L. a dog for Christmas. She's been without one for almost a year now and we think it's time." "Do you think she's really ready?" he asked, "Sometimes it takes a while to get over a loss like that." And it was often moments such as this in which my father would go into his philosophical mode. "You know, James, the dog who has been your friend and your companion in life never really dies." I looked at my father inquisitively. "He or she will always walk at your side every day for your entire life. And do you know why this is true?" I shook my head. "It's because your dog is always with you in your heart. It is a never-ending bond. And if you always think with your heart you can never go wrong." We sat by the side of the cardboard box, Butchy and I, listening attentively with Butchy resting her head on my lap as I gently stroked her back fur. He continued by saying, "James, there's no such thing as 'just a dog.' They are the most trusting and the most loyal friend that you will ever have. They never let you down. The amount of love and affection that dogs shower on us cannot really be expressed in words." My father was often his own world of old world sayings. "Even though I am not really sure about your 'gift idea' I will tell you what's good about this whole situation. It's that you are looking out for someone else. That makes it extra special. And that kind of gift is something that will always be appreciated. We'll go to the shelter tomorrow." The next morning my father drove us to the pound. Although he was not totally convinced that Mrs. L. would want another dog, he did know that my intentions were good and coming from my heart. As we entered the shelter, I looked down at Butchy and said, "You need to be quiet and you need to behave." Robin, the head shelter clerk, was on duty. We knew each other because I had volunteered at the shelter, cleaning out the runs and walking the dogs. "What 'cha doin' here, Sport?" she asked from behind the counter. "We're here to see if we can get a dog for our neighbor, Mrs. Launderville. She's been without one for a year and we think it's time for her to have a new friend to keep her company." "Well go see who's here. See if you can pick one out for her. Go have a look." We walked slowly down the main aisle, looking to the right and to the left, but suddenly Butchy raced ahead of us to the very last kennel. She stood up against the fencing and barked, and continued barking until we got there. In the very last kennel was a small black and white terrier dog shying away from us to the back of her cage. The hand-written 3x5 card listed her name as "Feather." And to my dismay, I saw that the dog was missing her right front leg. I ran back to Robin's office with Butchy on my heels to inquire about this dog. "Well," Robin began, "I named her 'Feather' because with only three legs she's as light as a feather. She fought a hard battle with a truck and it cost her a leg. She's not broken you know. I think she's a real sweetheart who's gotten a bad deal in the past. But I do believe she's ready to make a comeback and with a little love and attention she can share the rest of her life with someone who thinks she's really special. Someone who will not look at her as a disabled dog." Without any hesitation I said, "We'll take her. She'll be perfect." "James, are you sure?" my father asked. "Yes Dad, I'm sure. Butchy picked her out." We brought her to our veterinarian, Dr. Carter, to be thoroughly checked out and updated on any shots. And she received a clean bill of health from him. Then, under false pretense, we invited Mrs. Launderville over for Christmas Eve supper. My mother's orange-glazed ham was a hit as were all of her side dishes. Eating at our house was something to be enjoyed, each and every time you did it, and not just on special occasions. After supper Mrs. Launderville said to me, "I haven't seen Butchy all evening. Where are you hiding her?" "She's up in my bedroom guarding the Christmas gifts for Santa," I replied, "she's got some real special ones to look after this year. She has to be sure that none of them get away. You wanna' know a secret, Mrs. L? I think Butchy has a Christmas gift for you too." "For me?" questioned Mrs. L., "well she shouldn't have. I'm too old." "You're never too old for Christmas," I shouted as I ran up the stairs. I opened my bedroom door, whistled for Butchy to come, and carried "the present" down the stairs to Mrs. Launderville. "Her name is Feather," I said, "and she wants to come and live with you and be your friend. She needs a lot of love and affection and Butchy and I know you're the only one who can give it to her. Butchy and I chose her just for you." "Oh, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, and Butchy, you too. She's so beautiful. She's my little Christmas angel. You have put a warmth in my heart that has been missing from my life for the past year. And I have always believed that love that is not shared is lost." The surprise in Mrs. Launderville's eyes formed into little tears that slipped silently down her cheeks as she met her new friend. The little black and white terrier had found a new home and a new friend. As Feather licked away Mrs. L.'s tears, I turned and looked at Butchy and said, "Now that's the best 'Christmas therapy' ever — a dog licking your face." And then Butchy cocked her head to one side and issued a soft bark in total agreement.                     WARM REGARDS, Akhtar khatri *****help what we can with others in need...the world is ONE big family*****   ALL THE MAILS POSTED BY ME R NOT MY PROPERTY, ALL R TAKEN FROM NET, IF SOMETHING IS COPYRIGHTED PLZ INFORM ME, SO THAT I MAY NOT POST THE MATERIAL IN THE FUTURE

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