A Christmas Story
I’m not sure what year it was, but we were north of Toronto near my cottage. We were deep in a forest, surrounded by fluffy white snow everywhere. I was a young kid, wrapped up to my head in winter wear. I looked like a Canadian ninja, dressed in a blue, snowflake patterned toque, positioned just above my eyes. My Toronto Maple Leafs scarf was over my mouth and nose to the bottom of my eyes. Hundreds of fraser, balsam fir, scotch pine, and spruce trees surrounded us. The dusk sun was on the cusp of setting, and the snow reflected the dark blue from the sky above. Santa was up there somewhere, getting ready to visit us soon.
On the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree
My step-brother, Andy, was there, along with my brother, Mike, and my Dad. We were hunting for the perfect Christmas tree to return to the cottage and decorate for St. Nick himself. As we wandered through the snow-covered tree farm, we reached a crossroads. A large path split the forest in half. We stood there together, frozen for a moment, anticipating something.
Suddenly, a pack of barking, snorting dogs appeared out of the darkness. They sprinted toward us along the path, huffing and puffing. One large cloud of carbon dioxide floated above the dogs as they exhaled quick breaths. Behind the dogs stood a large man with a guttural voice who commanded the dogs to halt. The sleigh came to a complete stop right in front of us. We were all dumbfounded.
Two beautiful brown gems happily glared back to us.
The man behind the sled smiled. His eight huskies stood anxiously awaiting further instruction. The musher looked at us and asked if we liked his dogs. He assured us that it was OK to go over to pet them. One particular dog instantly drew us in like a magical magnet. He had the thick white, and gray fur one would expect from a Siberian Husky. However, his eyes were both hazel brown. The breed is best known for its piercing blue eyes. Some huskies have one blue and one brown eye, but not this one. Two beautiful brown gems happily glared back at us.
His eyes seemed to smile as we all gathered around to pet him while the dog runner glanced down and noted our fondness for the individual dog. “It sure looks like they like that one, eh?” he said to our father. My dad replied in agreement, “They sure do. He’s one hell of a good-looking dog.”
“You guys want him?” The musher asked. The freezing wind abruptly stopped. The forest became silent. My siblings and I stared from the dog up to my dad. We had never owned a dog before. The man unzipped his parka and reached into his pocket for a business card. “If you want him, give me a call. That one is for sale.”
Before my dad could answer him, he yelled, “Mush! Hike! All right! Let’s go!” The dogs jumped up and were off like lightning. They left the scene so quickly that it felt like the whole thing had been a winter dream. We stood there staring into the distance as the dog sled disappeared. The snow fell faster from the heavens.
Photo from Flickr by Peggy2012CREATIVELENZ
I have no recollection of selecting a tree, cutting it down, strapping it to the roof, or any monetary exchange for the tree. No, all I remember is what happened next. The snow fell silently into the windshield as we drove through the night. The ride was quiet as millions of flakes endlessly flew toward us. It was as if the snow had hypnotized my dad. He turned from glaring at his headlights on the dark road and asked, “Do you guys want a dog?”
"I was going to kill him next week."
A few days later, we drove up the long driveway of the musher’s home. We were shocked to see so many dog houses surrounded by fencing. The volume of the barking dogs was ear-piercing as we trudged through the slush and brown, muddy snow to the front door. The man greeted us, and we entered his rustic home. My dad and the man sat at his kitchen table. We looked around at the dogs, searching for the one we had found that night at the tree farm.
My dad made the check out for $500 as the man left to retrieve our first dog. The musher smiled as we departed and put his hand on my dad’s shoulder. “You know, I’m glad you bought that one… I was going to kill him next week.”
As it turns out, Teddy wasn’t the best sled dog, which would be his fate. Luckily (for him and us), he was the best first dog a family could own. I have no recollection of what Christmas gifts I received that year. I don’t even remember what the tree looked like. All I remember is that was the year Teddy joined our family. We had many great years with him. Now he’s up there somewhere, beyond the North Pole, above the snow and the clouds, in the sky, far over that tree farm.
Thanks for being here. Merry Christmas, Teddy. Happy Holidays to you too.