The 12 Dogs of Christmas (9 page)

That wish was on Emma's mind the next morning as
they once again rehearsed “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” It was going rather smoothly now, with the kids singing in tune—thanks to Mrs. Stevens's fine piano playing—and making their moves with grace and effectiveness—thanks to Coach's game plan. Emma's part was fairly simple. During most of the song she stood at the back of the stage, then moved forward whenever it was her turn to sing, “And a partridge in a pear tree.” Maybe this is why only she noticed the side door to the assembly hall opening now and then, and Principal Walsh sticking her head in ever so slightly. At first she scowled, which was normal with her, but then, could it be that Emma saw her smiling at the caroling children? Now, that
would
be a miracle.

“Okay, okay,” Coach Cullimore, applauding the kids, said, “now this is the part where Santa Claus comes in. Where's Mikey?”

No, Mike was not Santa Claus. He was far too young, short, and beardless to play the role. But every Christmas program needs a Santa. Old Jake would have been perfect, but nobody, not even Emma, thought he would agree. The mayor with a fake beard might pass muster, but the jolly spirit was missing, even if anyone had wanted him. It was Mike who came up with the solution. It was daring, and it was risky—they all knew that. But it was so right. Out on the stage, to the sound of Mrs. Stevens playing “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” came an enthusiastic Yeti in Santa hat and cloak, dragging Mike behind her on a leash.

Mrs. Walsh looked in just as Yeti sat on the stage. Emma watched as the outrage on the principal's face melted into an astonished smile. And this time, Emma knew without a doubt that a miracle was on its way.

But how?
Emma kept wondering as the rehearsal ended, and as they climbed into the truck, and as they drove back to the farm. She kept thinking about it as “The Twelve Days of Christmas” kept playing in her head over and over and over, and as images of dogs, lots of dogs, kept coming to mind, four Cocker Spaniels and ten Dalmatians, six Chihuahuas and five Golden Retrievers—five Golden Retrievers?
Fiiive
Goool-den Retrievers!

“I know how we can save the dogs!” Emma blurted out, nearly causing Mrs. Stevens to swerve off the road. She quickly explained her plan, and Mrs. Stevens quickly made a U-turn and headed back to the school. Coach Cullimore needed to hear this. This was going to be wonderful!

Coach heard it and liked it, liked it a lot. He knew, though, that nothing could be done without Mrs. Walsh giving her blessing, which he was not sure she would. But Emma was, for Emma thought she now knew something about Mrs. Walsh's heart.

The coach, Emma, and Mike met with Mrs. Walsh in her office. She was not happy about being disturbed so late in the day. They put the proposal to her, telling her they would be really careful and not wreck anything. She heard everything with a stony face.

“You are asking me to bless an outrageous idea that violates the most fundamental rules of this school, not to mention the law. I have already looked the other way to my awful shame.”

The coach and Mike didn't understand, but Emma knew what she was talking about. It was, in fact, what she was counting on. Emma stood up and addressed Mrs. Walsh directly. “We really need your help. It's the only way we can save the dogs.”

Mrs. Walsh stood up. “We needn't take more time on this,” she said, and then she ushered the three out of her office.

Emma was confused. She was convinced that she had found something in Mrs. Walsh's heart that should have come to their aid. Maybe she was wrong; maybe that something was missing from her heart. She had to know. She walked boldly back into Mrs. Walsh's office. “You've never had a dog, have you?” she asked. Mrs. Walsh did not answer. She just kept her face like a stone and dismissed Emma with her eyes.

But as soon as Emma left, those eyes turned sad and moist. Mrs. Walsh looked at a drawer in her desk, one she rarely opened. After a moment's hesitation, she opened the drawer and took from it a photo in a tarnished silver frame. It was a photo of her, many years ago, long before her face became like a stone. She was sitting and leaning against a most magnificent Golden Retriever, a dog surely as big as she. His name had been Teddy, named for a president of the United States, and he had been killed in his prime by one of the newfangled horseless carriages. She remembered crying, crying for days, and never wanting to cry like that again. So no more dogs, no more pets, no more caring. But that darn Sheepdog in the Santa outfit! It made her smile just thinking about it. And that Emma, she was such a pest and a nuisance, but so determined, so caring for those dogs. “Oh, why not?!” Mrs. Walsh said to herself. It made her smile again to think how Emma and the others would react.

Emma could have reacted by jumping up and down and yelling with a feeling of triumph. This is how Mike reacted, and Mrs. Stevens, and the coach, when Mrs. Walsh called and said that after serious reconsideration she had decided to give her blessing. But Emma's reaction was more quiet, more of happiness for Mrs. Walsh than a feeling a triumph for them. For Emma knew that a small change of one heart had happened. And if a small change of one heart had happened, maybe a miraculous change of many hearts would happen.

Emma knew that miracles were out of her hands. But she, along with her friends, could certainly help to prepare the town for one. And they only had six days! The first thing to do was to gather all the kids to explain Emma's plan, and they did that at the Stevens barn. After all their time in rehearsals, the kids might have been upset at the idea of having to learn new words and new moves, but they weren't; they embraced the idea with delight. It was for the dogs! It was for Doverville.

Writing had to be done, and Emma, Mike, and Miranda took charge of that. And a whole new concept for the staging had to be worked out, and all the kids contributed to that. A set had to be built, and Coach and the handiest boys took charge of that. It was all hard work, and the kids were devoting all their spare time to it, but it was fun. It all went smoothly until they suddenly realized that while they had two of this kind, and four of that kind, and even ten of this kind, they did not have seven of any kind. And as twelve mutts were being saved for the end, they were in trouble. Then Emma thought of Old Jake and his seven Huskies.

Emma tramped through the woods out to Old Jake's place, and the dogs greeted her like an old friend. Even Old Jake was happy to see her. However, he would not agree to let her use his dogs.

“I can't risk letting them out of my sight. Not with that crazy man and the dog-haters sneaking around.” “But that's why we're doing it. To stop them,” Emma pleaded.

“Not with my dogs.”

Emma was disappointed, but refused to let it get everyone down. “Something will come up. Maybe some of the new dogs coming in on the train tomorrow . . .”

The train did not come in with any new dogs to fill the gap. But two days later Old Jake did. He said his seven Huskies were howling to be on Broadway!

Everything looked set. The kids were tired, and the adults were exhausted, but they were all excited. Now there were just two more things to do. Mrs. Stevens picked up the phone and told the operator, “I would like to place a call to Lucy Stark at
LIKE
magazine.” That took care of one. The other they could do at Mayor Doyle's big Christmas party, to which the whole town had been invited.

Mayor Nobel Doyle's house was a grand house. If it had been in New York City, it would not have been a grand house, or even if it had been in Pittsburgh. In those cities it would have been a rather ordinary house. But in Doverville, where most people, quite frankly, cared little about the grand, it was considered a grand house. It had been built in the Queen Anne style and had a tower at one end. It seemed royal, and anything royal was supposed to be grand.

The Doyles had always gone all out in decorating it at Christmastime, and people loved to look at it at night, sitting there in the snow, the Doyles' Christmas tree standing in its joyful glory in one of the big windows.

Emma had never been to such a party, nor to such a house. One of the dresses Dolores had given her turned out to be perfect for the occasion. Mike had been turned into a gentleman with a suit and tie, his bright red hair slicked down and combed very neatly. He thought his mother, in a special dress she had not worn for years, was probably the most beautiful woman in the world. Coach Cullimore, who had put on his Sunday best and had driven out to the farm to pick them up, would not have disagreed.

As they entered the house brightly decorated in holly and lights, the guests thought it seemed to reflect back the warmth and joy of the season that the guests were feeling.
This was not the house of a villain in
an adventure story
, Emma observed. It wasn't all dark and foreboding, as she might have expected. It made her feel good, and confident, about her plan.

Mayor Doyle addressed the guests from the middle of the staircase. “Merry Christmas, my friends, to one and all.”

Then Mrs. Stevens took from Coach Cullimore a large Christmas-wrapped box that he had carried in and approached the mayor. The mayor was quite surprised to see Mrs. Stevens, even though he had invited the whole town. He was a little nervous as to what she was planning. But she came up to him smiling sweetly and said, “Mayor, I would be pleased if you would open my gift tonight.”

A gift? He had not expected a gift. For a fleeting moment he thought it might be a bomb.

“Open it, please,” Emma said from the crowd. “Do it for us.” The crowd agreed that he should, and Mayor Doyle was never one to disagree with a crowd.

The mayor opened the lid of the box in Mrs. Stevens's hands and found that the gift was worse than a bomb. It was a puppy, the most handsome golden Labrador puppy he had ever seen. Out of the crowd welled up a collective “
Awwwww!
” that was more potent than any majority vote, and the mayor felt compelled to pick up the puppy. The puppy was warm, nicely warm, and the mayor made the effort to seem pleased. Then he noticed a giant tag on the dog. The mayor looked it over, then read it out loud, as it was addressed not just to him. “His Honor the mayor and the distinguished members of the Town Council are cordially invited to attend a holiday tribute to our town. School Assembly Hall. Six o'clock in the evening. Christmas Eve.”

“To the spirit of the town and the spirit of the season,” Cathy pointedly said to the mayor.

What's this all about?
the mayor wondered.
What have
they got planned?
Whatever it was, they had thrown down the gauntlet graciously, and he had no choice but to respond graciously. “The mayor,” he addressed the crowd officially, “and the Town Council cordially accept.”

The crowd seemed pleased, and that pleased the mayor. Then Cathy took back the puppy, which the mayor was happy to relinquish. “He'll be waiting Christmas morning,” she said, “if you've been a good boy.”

The crowd cheered and applauded, even more pleased, but this time the mayor was not pleased. It seemed that Cathy Stevens had just made a not-so-subtle step toward bringing dogs back into town.

17
A Canine Christmas Eve

Dolores Snively woke up Christmas Eve morning a little bit sad. This had been the case for many Christmas Eve mornings, and it had always been even worse on Christmas Day mornings. For she would wake up alone, and the house would be cold, and there would be very little to look forward to. She wondered if she should even turn on the lights on the small Christmas tree she had put up in the salon. She did it for her customers; she did all her seasonal decorating for her customers. But there would be no customers today, and certainly none tomorrow, so why even turn on the lights? But she did, standing for a moment by the tree, looking at green and red and yellow lights glowing.

She marched herself into her kitchen to make a cup of coffee, and was just taking cream out of the refrigerator when she was startled by several gentle knocks on the door. She sprung up and turned to see Emma, all bundled up, standing in her kitchen doorway.

“It's six thirty in the morning! What in the name of heaven—”

“I'm sorry it's so early, but—”

“Forget it,” Dolores said, and then took a nice, deep breath. “Where's your pup? Is he all right?”

Emma nodded. “Yes, he's fine. I just need to ask you something.”

“First, listen . . . I've been thinking,” Dolores said, “that if you, if you wanted to come back here with me, I would be happy to have your dog and, well, forget about Norman!”

Emma gave Dolores a great big hug. It surprised Emma as much as it surprised Dolores.

Emma looked up at Dolores and smiled sweetly. “I have one more favor to ask: can you groom dogs too?”

It was the one thing in all their plans they had forgotten: the dogs needed to be dolled up! They figured it out late the night before after their last rehearsal. They were all tired and felt a little worse for the wear, but that was nothing compared to the dogs that had worked just as hard. Some had matted fur, some had fur mud-splattered, some had straw tangled in their fur, and none of their coats had the luster they deserved for being such good troupers.

“They need beauty treatments,” Miranda rightly said. Beauty treatments? Well, where does one go for beauty treatments but a beauty salon? But beauty treatments for seventy-seven dogs?

“Dolores can do it.” Emma was convinced.

“Not without starting very early in the morning,” Mrs. Stevens added.

And that is why Emma showed up in Dolores's kitchen at six thirty in the morning, and that is why Dolores, who had woken up a little bit sad and had been expecting an empty Christmas Eve day, had, instead, a very full, very busy, and very happy day.

Of course all the kids helped, turning Dolores's Beauty Salon into a scene of canine cosmetic chaos, full of baths, bubbles, and beauty. Labradors were lathered, Dalmatians were doused, Chihuahuas were combed, Sheepdogs were shampooed, Huskies were honeyed, Boxers were bathed, Golden Retrievers were garnished, Basset Hounds were brushed, Cocker Spaniels were curled, and St. Bernards were blow-dried. Only Max the Poodle was not there, for he would not leave his doghouse. But Max was central to the plan, so plans were being made for Max.