Christmas Come Home

by

Special to United Methodist Insight

There was once an old man who had a little spotted dog. The old man’s name was Jake. The dog’s name was Christmas.

Christmas came to live at "Old Jake's" house at Christmas time the year after his dear wife Margaret died. The strange thing was Jake had never liked dogs. Margaret had always wanted a dog and Jake had always said, “No, we don't need a dog; dogs are too much trouble.”

As Christmas approached that first year without Margaret, Old Jake didn't know how he was going to bear it. He and Margaret hadn't had any children. The house seemed bare and empty. Margaret had always done all the decorating. Jake would put up the tree in the living room and a few lights on the bushes in the front yard. Margaret did all the rest: wreaths on the doors, candles in the windows, manger scene on the mantle over the fireplace, and angels and garlands all over the place.

What Jake missed most, though, was Margaret's baking. The house was always full of good smells in the weeks before Christmas: candy, cookies of all kinds, and fruit cake, her specialty. It wasn't going to be the same.

As December rolled around Jake decided he couldn't face the Christmas season alone. He shocked himself. Jake decided to get a dog. Maybe he did it because he felt guilty about never letting Margaret have a dog. Maybe it was because he was desperately lonely. Maybe Margaret was watching over him.

Whatever it was, the first thing Monday morning on the sixth day of December, Jake found himself down at the humane society. And there, among all of the cute terriers and beagles and miniature poodles and Shih Tzus and Pekinese, was the ugliest dog he had ever seen. The sign beneath the kennel read "Miniature Bull Terrier."

The dog had a spotted, mud-colored coat with a large white patch around one eye. His nose looked like a combination of bulldog and boxer. There was a scar across his belly and half of his tail was missing. It looked like it had been chewed off in a fight.

"That's my dog," thought Jake. "Nobody else is going to take that dog home."

When they let the dog out of the kennel, he came right up to Jake, licked his hand, and rolled over with his feet in the air. It was like he had been waiting for Jake all of his life.

 "Hello, little fella,” Jake said, “You and I are going to be good friends. I'm going to call you Christmas because you and I are going to get through Christmas together."

Jake got Christmas into the car and took him home to the big empty house. He showed Christmas his bowl of water and the pan of dog food beside the refrigerator. Then he took Christmas upstairs and showed him the doggie bed he had found at Wal-Mart. Next to the bed were raw hide bones and a couple of chewy toys. Jake had more toys in the closet, all wrapped up to go under the tree on Christmas Eve. He would keep those a secret. No sense spoiling the surprise. Jake knew this was all silly for a man his age, but it made him happy. He had feared he would never be happy again.

Jake and Christmas hit it off immediately, although there was a little trouble that first night. Christmas didn't want to sleep in his comfy Wal-Mart bed. He wanted to sleep on the end of Jake's bed. Jake finally gave in and when he woke up in the middle of the night he found Christmas nestled up against his feet with his little doggie paw in his mouth. Jake smiled and went back to sleep. He slept more soundly that night than he had since Margaret died.

In the days that followed, Christmas followed Jake everywhere. They took out the garbage together, cleaned the basement, decorated the Christmas tree with all of Margaret’s treasured ornaments, arranged the manger scene on the mantle over the fireplace and put all of Margaret's favorite decorations in their assigned places. Jake did the heavy lifting and Christmas lay in front of the fire, taking it all in as he wagged the stump of his tail.

Jake even tried baking some cookies using a couple of Margaret's easiest recipes. They didn't turn out very good, but Christmas loved them. What did he know? He had probably never had good Christmas cookies.

Things went along very well until about two weeks before Christmas. Jake was out in the yard, replacing a burnt-out bulb on a string of lights. Christmas was stalking a squirrel over by the curb. A garbage truck pulled up and stopped at the end of the driveway. Just as that great, gaping back door of the truck was opening with a searing screech, Christmas took off like a shot. Jake called out for him and ran after him, but he couldn't catch him.

Jake searched everywhere, all over town, calling out the little dog's name as he went, listening in vain for his familiar bark. The next day was the same, and the day after that. Jake searched and searched. He knocked on doors, asking everyone “Have you seen a little spotted dog? He put up posters and kept making the rounds looking for Christmas everywhere.

The neighbors began to say there was no use looking anymore. “Surely your little dog is dead,” they said, “hit by a car, no doubt, and crawled off somewhere to die.” Still, old Jake would not give up. Every night before he went to bed, he would go out on the porch and call out the little dog's name at the top of his voice. “Here Christmas! Here Christmas!”  This went on for days. The neighbors were certain the old man had lost his mind; they thought maybe somebody should put him in a home.

But Jake kept looking every day and part of every night, calling out the little dog's name at the top of his voice. "Here Christmas! Here Christmas! He called and called until he was hoarse. A lot of people would have given up, but not Jake.

Then, just as dusk approached on Christmas Eve, Jake headed for home, his head down, calling out for Christmas. His heart was aching and his voice breaking as he stepped onto the porch still calling for Christmas, his voice barely audible like a prayer whispered into the emerging darkness. “Here Christmas....”

And then he saw him, Christmas, bounding over a snow bank in back of the garage. Christmas came straight toward Jake, running with all his little dog might. He ran up the steps onto the porch and leaped into Jake's weary arms. Tears poured from Jake's eyes as Christmas licked his face with a barrage of doggie kisses.

Christmas had come home.

The Rev. John Sumwalt is a retired Wisconsin Conference pastor and the author of “How to Preach the Miracles.” He offers storytelling programs for churches & community groups