A Tale for Christmas...

Gwen fussed with the tree; the balance had to be just so. Determined to enter into the Christmas spirit, she hummed along to the Christmas CD she always played whilst she was dressing the tree. It was what she had always done at Christmas and just because she was on her own - well, she had Poppy for company thank goodness - she saw no reason to change her habits. She couldn't help but feel sad, however, and as tears threatened, (which they invariably did - that was becoming tradition too). She sat down, took a deep breath, and reached for her sherry - another seasonal ritual.

Poppy, her much beloved Jack Russell, recognising the signs, wandered over ready for a tentative lick should the tears begin to fall. Gwen pulled her ears gently and lovingly.

'Silly me,' she said, forcing a smile. 'What have I got to be sorry about? I've got you, a lovely home and we always have a lovely Christmas together don't we?'

In many ways it was true. There were always plenty of Christmas cards around, though if anyone had bothered to look, all but a handful from friends in the village and a couple of old friends elsewhere, were from previous years including some from David, sent in the years before he died so suddenly. They'd had a wonderful life together wrapped up in each other so completely, there had never been room for children although there were usually a couple of dogs and cats about the place which made it feel homely. There were presents round the tree; mostly for Poppy, but a few little bits and pieces were wrapped for Gwen herself, just to bulk out the display and enable her to enter into the spirit of things. She and David always opened presents after lunch and it was a tradition she upheld.

Of course, there were people in the village, kind people she knew, who always invited her to join their celebrations but she always declined brightly declaring that she wouldn't dream of intruding and anyway, she had her own Christmas traditions so not to worry about her - she'd be fine and see them for a drink in the local Christmas morning.

Another ritual.

There were usually a few tears as she pulled her solitary cracker before lunch, but Poppy understood, and after giving her mistress a loving and gentle lick by way of communicating this fact, tucked in and showed due appreciation of her turkey dinner treat.

Gwen picked up her little dog and hugged her close.

'Oh Poppy!' she sighed. 'There is just so much love in this house and only us to share it.'

Poppy gave a knowing look which her mistress missed entirely. Gwen felt comforted as she cuddled her pet then shuddered as she remembered how she had thought she had lost her just a few weeks before. She had been beside herself. Four years ago she had rescued Poppy as a stray and the little dog had been devoted to her ever since. They were inseparable in fact. And then one day, out of the blue, Poppy had disappeared out of the garden - presumably chasing next door's cats. Unusually, however, despite all of Gwen's calling and coaxing, she hadn't returned. Gwen hadn't felt such desperation since David had died. She was beside herself and hardly slept with the worry of it as grotesque images filled her mind of Poppy in difficulty, Poppy being kidnapped, Poppy stuck down a rabbit hole.

After three days of this agony, there was a knock at her door. Gwen answered, knowing that she was not looking her best. Usually, her pale blonde hair, paler now more than ever thanks to the encroaching grey, was swept up in an elegant chignon. Her complexion was still good for a woman of nearly sixty, her eyes were bright with dark lashes and her figure was trim and neat. However, as she answered the door she knew that her hair was dishevelled, her eyes had dark circles under them and were red rimmed from crying and her face was devoid of the light make up she usually favoured. All of that, however, was transformed as she opened the door and Poppy sauntered in as if she hadn't a care in the world.

Gwen's face lit up as she bent down and joyfully scooped the little terrier up into her arms. Tears of joy coursed down her cheeks which she hastily tried to brush away as she focussed on the stranger standing before her.

He was tall, very upright, possibly military, she thought; rather attractive, especially for a chap probably as old if not indeed, older than her. He raised his hat with one hand revealing a thatch of white hair; the other, she noted, was clasping a lead on the end of which was another Jack Russell; dark in colouring whereas Poppy was white predominantly, and smooth coated where Poppy was broken coated. A very proud and beautiful specimen thought Gwen as, indeed, it seemed, did he. She could hardly get her words out so great was her relief, but the stranger recognised her emotion at the safe return of her companion and sought to reassure her.

'She is obviously back home where she belongs.' he said, noting Poppy lying back in Gwen's arms revelling in the attention she was getting.

'She isn't injured in any way as far I can see,' he added. 'Turned up out of the blue when I was walking Max across Murphy's fields. They got on like a house on fire so I took her home with us. She didn't have a collar on.'

'She did when she ran off,' interrupted Gwen quickly, she didn't, after all, want this stranger to think that she was an irresponsible dog owner.

'Oh I'm sure she did,' he said quickly, sensing her discomfort. 'But you know what terriers are. Anyway, I was a bit slow - had my dear wife still been here she would have thought of it straight away but I'm afraid it took me a day or so to think of checking her out to see if she was chipped and...well...here we are.'

'I can't thank you enough,' said Gwen, warming to this elegant gentleman with his very appealing terrier. 'Can I offer you a drink or something?' she asked.

He was tempted; he was sorely tempted but something held him back. He very much liked what he saw. Despite the ravages of fear at the prospect of having lost her pet, he recognised an attractive lady when he saw one. But he was a widower and still coming to terms with that. Would it be appropriate to step into some strange woman's house? What would her husband think? What would the neighbours think? Regretfully, oh so regretfully, he declined.

'That is very kind, but I'm afraid we have to be off. Maybe we'll bump into each other walking the dogs some time; they do seem to get on very well together,' he added - almost as an afterthought.

And so the handsome, dignified stranger had departed with his equally handsome dog. Gwen would have liked to get to know them both better - wished he had accepted her offer of a drink. But he hadn't so she hadn't given them much thought since; life resumed its usual patterns.

And now it was Christmas Eve; all the preparations were in place - everything was ready. The last post dropped onto the mat. Gwen was surprised, the few cards she usually got she had received already. She bent and picked them up and was immediately distracted by a whimper from upstairs.

'Poppy?' she called. Another whimper. Gwen's heart sank - whatever was wrong. She moved with surprising speed across the hall and up the stairs into her bedroom where she found Poppy looking up a trifle guiltily as she cleaned up four beautiful tiny black, brown and white puppies. Gwen was shocked and delighted. She knelt down beside Poppy stroking her lovingly.

'Oh you clever, clever girl! You clever, naughty girl! This is what you were up to - I never gave it a thought!'

She suddenly realised how slow on the uptake she had been. A bit of weight gain here, lethargy there. But Gwen had dismissed it as the Christmas rituals took over her life and anyway, Poppy retained her appetite and seemed content enough.

'Well, we've certainly got more to love this Christmas haven't we?' she said, settling down and watching with awe as Poppy took charge of her new brood. Then she remembered her post.

Her letter was addressed in a strong hand to Mrs. G. Cartwright and then one beneath in the same hand to Miss Poppy Cartwright. Intrigued, she opened them. In her card was written, 'I hope Poppy has learned the error of her ways. Max misses her company. If you would care to arrange to meet up to walk them together that would make two chaps very happy! A very Merry Christmas to you!'

It was signed by Geoffery Morgan and he had added his telephone number and address. Gwen smiled and opened the second letter. Inside this Christmas card was written, 'Love, licks and waggy tails, Max' with a splodgy kiss added for good measure.

Gwen felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through her. This was real Christmas spirit, she thought. She reached out to the telephone at the side of the bed; the proud father needed to be informed of his good fortune and who knows, with the unexpected Christmas delivery, there was hope yet for a less lonely future ahead.

In his cottage in the next village, Geoffrey Morgan, retired barrister and widower of some three years, straightened up having put Max's dinner down and watched as the terrier performed the time honoured ritual of pretending to turn his nose up then devour the lot. He reached out for the phone absentmindedly; probably his son he thought.

As he listened to the soft, feminine voice on the other end, his face relaxed into a beaming smile. Yes, he thought, this is what Christmas was all about. Fresh hope for the future.