A Shiloh Christmas (16 page)

I'm already reaching for the sack of dog food. I pour two bowls' full, and I see Judd's dog so thin his ribs are showing. His legs tremble a little as he eats, and Judd can't take his eyes off him.

“All this time, and he come back to me,” he says. “I'm going to take him around, show him off to some of the fellas in Middlebourne. Maybe buy him a barbecue sandwich at the diner. I'll put me a blanket in my truck, and he can sleep there all day to stay warm.”

I can't wait for Shiloh to finish eating, so I can hug him again.

Ma comes out in the kitchen in her robe. “Well, for goodness' sake, look here!” she says, her eyes traveling from Judd's dog to Shiloh. “When did all this happen?”

“'Bout five minutes ago,” I tell her. “Shiloh brought Judd's dog back, and they were waiting outside the tent for Judd to wake up.” I find two pans and give both dogs some fresh water, and they lap it up, drops flying every which way.

“Well, let me fix some breakfast for you, Judd,” says Ma.

“No, I'm on my way to Middlebourne, but thank you,” says Judd. “Going to keep my dog company all day.” And when his dog has finished eating, Judd scoops him up in his arms again and off they go together.

“That's a happy ending if I ever saw one,” says Dad, taking his bread out of the toaster and buttering it up.

“Ending to what?” I ask.

“Oh, to this chapter of Judd's life, I guess—losing his trailer home and his other dog.” He points to the second piece of toast. “Want it?”

I reach over, and take the jelly jar, too, and Ma goes off to take a shower. I'm full awake now—awake enough to eat breakfast with Dad, anyway. Feeling pretty good about my dad right then, so I say, “Any chance we can finish the new addition by Christmas?”

Dad puts down his spoon. “Marty, I know you were really counting on that. But I've got to put in the insulation,
the electric, the ceiling, the drywall, the heat—and we don't even have a doorway yet, connecting it to the dining room.”

That's a no if I ever heard one. Don't know what I was hoping he'd say. That he'd take his two-week vacation now and spend it all working on the house, just so I can have a room of my own by Christmas? Hate to admit it, but what's really going on in my head is that he's been helping out folks across the creek the past couple Sundays when he could have been working over here.

“It's like this, Marty. Our family's not squeezed into a motel room. You're the one having to sleep on the couch, I know, and you've been looking forward to your own room for a long time. But there are kids in that motel who just want a real place to call home. And if I can get them there a little faster by helping clear their land, I think I ought to do it.”

Didn't hear nothing I didn't expect. Feeling sorry for myself, I guess. Wanted Dad to at least say he's sorry we won't have that room done by Christmas. He don't. Saving his sorry for the folks who got burned out.

“You understand?” Dad says at last, finishing the rest of his coffee.

“Yeah,” I say. I don't have to like it, but I understand, and wish I hadn't asked the question. Should have held on to my Shiloh happiness a little longer before I brought the subject up.

Girls can't hardly wait for Judd to get back that night, 'cause they've both got names for his dog. Judd's spent the day watching football with a friend, and his pickup pulls in about eight, girls already in their pajamas.

I call out, ask him to come on in, Ma's got some white beans on the stove waiting. So he does.

“Where's the dog?” I ask.

“One of the mechanics from Whelan's has a fenced-in yard. Says he'll keep him for me till I get a pen of my own,” Judd says. Unzips his jacket, and Ma slides a plate onto the table.

“Well, that worked out well, didn't it?” says Ma, glad, I know, there won't be an extra dog here.

“Yeah, fellas have all been pretty good to me,” Judd says, and sits down. “This here looks mighty good. Thank you.”

“We've picked out some names for your dog!” Dara Lynn says eagerly. “You want to hear them?”

“You're thinkin' of naming my dog?”

“Yes!” says Becky. “Fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” says Judd. “What kind of name is that for a dog?”

Becky sticks out her lower lip and turns toward Dara Lynn to hear her idea.

“I think you should call him Lucky, because he's lucky he didn't get run over,” she tells him.

“He's lucky all right,” says Judd.

“Pal would be a nice name for him, now that he's come back,” says Ma.

“Well, he's already got a name. I named him this morning,” says Judd. “Norman.”

“Norman?”
we all say together. What kind of name is
that
for a dog?

“It's my middle name,” says Judd.

What could we say? But I think we knew right then that Judd was going to take good care of that dog, now that it was a member of his family.

“Been a fine day. Norman must be good luck for me,” he says, enjoying the beans. “I drove over to another man's house, showed off my dog—they all know he's been missing—and he's got a trailer I can use for a while.”

“Well, hey!” says Dad.

“Only big enough for a squirrel, but he keeps it in his yard for relatives' visits. Got people coming for
Christmas, but he says I can move it over on my property after the first of the year, and keep it till I can buy something bigger.”

“That's wonderful, Judd,” says Ma.

“I got some money saved up, and I'm thinking of getting me one of those prefabricated two-room houses,” Judd says.

“The kind you put together yourself?” asks Dad.

“That's the kind,” Judd tells him. “Maybe we could help each other out. I could help with your insulation and all, and you could maybe help me put up the frame for my house when it comes. Two rooms should be big enough for me and Norman.”

And we all think that's a fine idea.

Christmas itself is big in our family, but presents aren't. The same time Dad was paying medical bills for his ma, we've been trying to save up to buy the materials for that extra room on our house.

Last year was the hardest for us—Uncle Bill had lost his house in a flood, and of course we didn't need a dog to care for too, but that's when I brung home Shiloh.

“Poorest we've ever been, that one year,” Ma says.

We don't have two cars, so no way she could get a job, and even if she could, she's got Becky to care for,
not in school yet. So that year she told Dara Lynn and me not to expect much for Christmas, and on Christmas morning we each of us found a card with a five-dollar bill in it, and a package under the tree: a giant-size box each of our own favorite cereal, nobody could eat it but us. Becky, of course, with that super-size box of Froot Loops, carried it around to announce it was all for her. But Dara Lynn still remembers last year as the Cap'n Crunch Christmas.

Things are easier this year, but we're still being careful. I do my part by helping out at the animal clinic, so Dr. Collins takes care of any problem Shiloh's got for free. Didn't have to pay for the presents I'm giving my family either. Every one of them has John Collins's name on them. He gives them out to his clients at Christmas 'cause they're good advertising.

I got a little toy mouse for Dara Lynn to give her cat, and a paperback book about owls for Becky; both of them got JOHN COLLINS ANIMAL CLINIC stamped on them somewhere. Picked up a red plastic water dish for Shiloh, a rawhide bone for Judd to give to Norman, a hand towel for Ma with a paw-print design, and a JCAC key chain for Dad with a little jackknife and a flashlight on it.

Ma tells Judd she expects him to be here for Christmas
dinner. Tells him our aunt Hettie will be here too, and asks could he bring some firewood, which he's glad to do. Dr. Collins says humans and dogs are alike that way: want to know you count on them for something.

Dara Lynn and I have already chosen what tree we want Dad to chop down for us to decorate. Now that deer season is over, and we don't have to worry about somebody shooting on our seventy acres—which they do sometimes, even though we got them posted—we always go off and look for the biggest and best fir tree we can find.

But Dad surprises us on Tuesday by coming home from his mail route with a big bag from JCPenney, and of course we've practically got our noses in it before he takes off his jacket.

“Decided to do my Christmas shopping early this year,” he says. “So Lou, here's your present, but I expect you'll share it with the whole family.”

Ma's so surprised all she can do is watch as he reaches into the bag and pulls out a set of those icicle lights you see in catalogs, and then another, and another, till there's four sets laying there on the table. Dara Lynn and I give a shout when we see what they are.

“Oh, Ray, those are expensive!” Ma says, but I can tell by the smile lines on her face that she's happy about it.

Dad's grinning too. “I know we wanted our addition done by Christmas, but no reason we can't decorate what we have, is there?” he asks.

Now we're in the spirit! All we've had in the past is a tree with red and blue and green lights on it, and another string of red and green and blue around the door frame. That and a wreath on the door. But this . . . wow!

It's starting to get dark, but we can't wait one minute to put those lights up, so we bring out the stepladder. Ma and the girls have carefully uncoiled the lights, and with me holding a flashlight, Dad's screwing cup hooks along the edge of the porch roof, up the little diamond-shaped peak above the front door, and then on down the rest of the way under the eaves.

Judd drives up in his truck just then, and pretty soon Ma's handing a string of lights to him. Judd hands it up to Dad, and he starts looping it over the hooks at one end of the porch roof. I keep the flashlight aimed at wherever it's needed most. When that string is up, the little jiggery icicle lights hanging down all along the eaves, Ma hands up the second set; Dad connects it to the first and takes it all the way to the top of the peak. Then he starts down the other side with the third set, and finally, with a little adjusting, the fourth set is connected, the end hanging down.

It's a big project, 'cause if you plug too many in the same outlet, you could blow a fuse. But finally we got the stepladder moved out of the way, and Ma's standing in the doorway, her hand on the porch light switch.

“Everybody ready?” she calls, and we're all out there in the yard facing the house, like folks waiting for a flag to go up.

“Ready, set, go!” says Dad.

It's like our front porch turned into a fairyland. Becky shrieks and Dara Lynn oohs and even Judd Travers gives a whistle.

Ma comes out to enjoy it with us. “That is just the prettiest thing!” she says, over and over.

Tiny trickles of light, like dripping water, dance in the wind, sparkling and twinkling. Didn't ever know our house could look so beautiful.