| I am lying on the couch, curled up under a green fleece blanket. The house is quiet, everyone else has gone out. Only a few days after Christmas, my family seems to still be in the Christmas spirit, even though I am not. I am feeling blue, fighting depression again after finally beginning to feel better. My disability has flared, and I am feeling sorry for myself, feeling that things might not ever get better. Lying there alone, I can think only of the loved ones who are no longer with us to spend the holidays. Though my grandmother passed away more than two years ago, my heart still aches every time I think of her, and the holiday season just makes it that much worse. |
| I sigh and turn over, burying myself deeper under the blanket. My service dog rises from where he's been lying next to the couch and comes over to look at me. He sticks his wet nose in my face, and I groan and shove him away. |
| "Get out of here, Chester. Don't bug me." He stares at me for a minute, and then walks away, padding into the kitchen, his toenails making ticking sounds against the hardwood floors. I pull the blanket over my head and in the warm darkness, begin to doze off. Just as I am totally relaxed, something hard bonks me on the head. I pull back the blanket, sputtering in surprise. Chester is standing there, staring at me, his tail wagging. He picks his tennis ball up from the floor where it has landed after rolling off my head, and drops it under my nose, then for good measure gives me a nice wet nose-nudge on the forehead. I glare at him and pull the blanket back over my head. I hear his footsteps walking away again, and settle back in to take a nap. Moments later, something else hits me over the head. With a curse, I fling back the blanket and sit up, ready to yell. Chester stands there, his tail wagging furiously, his big Christmas rawhide bone in his mouth, other little rawhides and toys clustered around his feet. He drops the big rawhide in my lap, then picks up a toy and flings it at me. I just sit there with my mouth open, completely unable to say anything, my anger fading as he dances in front of me, asking to play, handing me all his toys, giving up the rawhide that he adores so that I'll be happy. I hand his rawhide back to him, but he prances over and drops it in my lap again, giving me a swift lick before bouncing away. He pauses a few feet away, staring at me hopefully. He looks so goofy that I begin to smile, and he prances around happily, and before long I am laughing out loud. He jumps up on the couch and puts his head in my lap, rolling over for a belly-scratching, wiggling like a puppy. I hug him close, my precious boy, a lump forming in my throat. He's willing to give his most prized possessions to me just to make me smile, and right then and there I realize how incredibly lucky I am. More than just a dog, more even than a service dog, he is a true friend. He licks my face, and suddenly things don't seem so dark. His simple gifts of love mean more to me than anything else that I've ever received, and somehow I begin to feel that as long as he is with me, things will be all right. |
| Copyright B. Brake 2004 |
| A Christmas Gift |
| Service Dogs Save Lives! |
| By B. Brake |