I want to write a Christmas story. A sweet and happy story filled with cheer and good tidings to match the mood in my home and every home in my imagination.
A sad story just won’t work for a Christmas story.
Where does a sweet and happy Christmas story begin?
Well at the beginning of course. And this beginning is right here right now. Where everyone is busy with their gifts, their wrappings, Christmas letters, and their baking. Everyone except one old cowboy too stooped and crippled to bother with a tree.
He manages to rise from his worn, tattered, plaid easy chair with a groan and fetch another log for his fire and grumbles sour words to the wind blowing in as his collie scoots in beyond his feet.
This Christmas isn’t much different than the Christmases past. Alone and quiet, He’s warm and not in need of much.
Returning to his easy-chair with a sigh, he rests his head back, rubs his round belly and his collie comes and lies near his side wagging in hopes of a pet.
Reaching down he strokes her gnarled coat, “Lady, what we got for our Christmas feast this year?” The collie’s tail wags steadily anticipating the preparations. “Sure do hope that wind settles down before sun up, Lady. Or it’s liable to make havoc of our night.”
The old man pats the collie’s head once more and as if on cue the winds let up.
With a moan and a heavy shuffle, he pulls on his boots, fetches his coat and cap and places an extra log near the fire for later. The duo, make their way out and beyond the steps.
A sled rests near the open barn and here he stops, “First on our Christmas menu this year,” he says, “hay for the deer.” And he and the collie fill the sled with hay. After delivering this he chuckles his heartful laugh and returns to the open barn.
“Apples for the horses,” he beams and returns to the warm house a moment. The crate of apples is quickly gobbled up by the aged ramuda.
“The cattle already have had their dinner, but it is Christmas so alfalfa cubes for them!”
The moon spills down upon his sweaty brow as he and the collie deliver their Christmas treat to the cattle.
“We’re nearly done with our Christmas feast, Lady! Just one more course yet to deliver, “ he laughs and holds his hand across his round belly as he watches the cattle gobble up their cubes.
“Grain for the pheasants! Cause they are my favorite But don’t tell the others, “ he whispers to the mangy dog trotting beside him.
“And now, Lady. It’s dinner for us.” And I’ve just the Christmas steak for an old friend,” he says as they return to place the waiting log on their fire.