Merry Christmas, My Friend
"I will never forget you," the old man said. A tear
rolled down his leathery cheek. "I'm getting old. I can't
take care of you anymore."
With his head tilted to one side, Monsieur DuPree
watched his master. "Woof woof! Woof woof!" He wagged his
tail back and forth, wondering, What's he up to now?
"I can't take care of myself anymore, let alone take
care of you." The old man cleared his throat. He pulled a
hankie from his pocket and blew his nose with a mighty
blast.
"Soon, I'll move to an old age home and, I'm sorry to
say, you can't come along. They don't allow dogs there, you
know."
Bent over from age, the old man limped over to Monsieur
DuPree and stroked his head.
"Don't worry, my friend. We'll find a home. We'll find
a nice new home for you." And, as an afterthought he added,
"Why, with your good looks, we'll have no trouble at all.
Anyone would be proud to own such a fine dog."
Monsieur DuPree wagged his tail really hard and
strutted up and down the kitchen floor. "Woof, woof, woof,
woof." For a moment, the familiar musky scent of the old man
mingling with the odor of greasy food gave the dog the
feeling of well being. But then, a sense of dread took hold
again. His tail hung between his legs and he stood very
still.
"Come here." With great difficulty, the old man knelt
down on the floor and lovingly pulled Monsieur Dupree close
to him. He tied a ribbon around his neck with a huge red
bow, and then he attached a note to it. Monsieur DuPree
wondered what it said.
"It says," the old man read aloud, "Merry Christmas! My
name is Monsieur DuPree. For breakfast, I like bacon and
eggs -- even corn flakes will do. For dinner, I prefer
mashed potatoes and some meat. That's all. I eat just two
meals a day. In return, I will be your most loyal friend."
"Woof woof! Woof woof!" Monsieur DuPree was confused
and his eyes begged, What's going on?
The old man blew his nose into his hankie once more.
Then, hanging onto a chair, he pulled himself up from the
floor. Buttoning his overcoat, he reached for the dog's
leash and softly said, "Come here my friend." He opened the
door against a gust of cold air and stepped outside,
pulling the dog behind. Dusk was beginning to fall.
Monsieur DuPree pulled back. He didn't want to go.
"Don't make this any harder for me. I promise you,
you'll be much better off with someone else."
The street was deserted. It began to snow. Leaning into
the wintry air, the old man and his dog pushed on. The
pavement, trees, and houses were soon covered with a blanket
of snow.
After a very long time, they came upon an old Victorian
house surrounded by tall trees, which were swaying and
humming in the wind. The old man stopped. Monsieur DuPree
stopped, too. Shivering in the cold, they appraised the
house. Glimmering lights adorned every window, and the
muffled sound of a Christmas song was carried on the wind.
"This will be a nice home for you," the old man said,
choking on his words. He bent down and unleashed his dog,
then opened the gate slowly, so that it wouldn't creak. "Go
on now. Go up the steps and scratch on the door."
Monsieur DuPree looked from the house to his master and
back again to the house. He did not understand. "Woof woof!
Woof woof!"
"Go on." The old man gave the dog a shove. "I have no
use for you anymore," he said in a gruff voice. "Get going
now!"
Monsieur DuPree was hurt. He thought his master didn't
love him anymore. He didn't understand that, indeed, the old
man loved him very much, yet he could no longer care for
him. Slowly he straggled toward the house and up the steps.
He scratched with one paw at the front door. "Woof woof!
Woof woof!"
Looking back, he saw his master step behind a tree just
as someone from inside turned the front doorknob. A little
boy appeared, framed in the door by the light coming from
behind. When he saw Monsieur DuPree, he threw both arms into
the air and shouted with delight, "Oh boy! Oh boy! Mom and
Dad, come and see what Santa brought!"
Through teary eyes, the old man watched from behind the
tree. He saw the mother read the note, and tenderly pull the
dog inside. Smiling, the old man wiped his eyes with the
sleeve of his cold, damp coat as he disappeared into the
night whispering, "Merry Christmas, my friend."
by Christa Holder Ocker
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