"Are you sure, Honey? Maybe we should take him to the pound instead. I'm sure they can find a home for Mocha. He's housebroken, never touches anything, and knows more commands and tricks than most dog trainers. Who wouldn't want him?"
"We talked about this earlier, Dear. The pound pretty much means death for any animal that goes in. Anyway, there's no changing our minds now, unless we want to miss our flight."
"I feel awful. I mean Mocha was your very first Christmas present to me. Even if we can't keep him, I want to make sure he ends up being happy."
"He will. I took off the ID tag with our information, but he still has his genuine leather collar, and gold plated name-tag. People will know he's not a stray. They'll even know his name."
"Alright... I'm really going to miss him though."
He opened the car door, a hard rubber ball in his hand. "Hey boy, want to play?"
Mocha's eyes shined, and his tail thumped in anticipation.
"Goodbye, Mocha," he whispered, as he threw the ball hard down the deserted sidewalk. It made it to the downhill section, and kept rolling.
"Go get it!" the man commanded, and the dog sprang into action.
Mocha trotted back, after successfully capturing his prize. The car was gone, along with the two people who had raised him from puppyhood.
The next five days were pure torture for Mocha. Afraid to leave the area and miss the return of his family, his options were extremely limited.
After several close calls with angry property owners, stray dogs, and even a black bear which had bumbled into the world of suburbia, he was but a shadow of his former self.
Starving and exhausted, one night he took shelter under a car.
A strange jangling sound, accompanied by the smell of unfamiliar creatures came to him. Too tired to be curious, he opened an eye, then closed it again.
A few minutes later, something that couldn't be ignored reached his nose: food . Hamburger to be exact.
Weakly crawling out, Mocha followed his nose. It led him to some thick bushes below a window. There he found a paper plate full of hamburger, and the comforting sound of human voices.
He ate every bite, then slept right where he was, his stomach satisfied.
"Isn't John a little old to believe in Santa? He's ten, Jane."
"That's just it. This is probably the last year he will believe, so I want to make it special."
"So do I, but even if I found one, those Pyramid Consoles cost more than we have in the bank. No, the price will come down after Christmas. It won't hurt him to wait a couple of months. If anything, he will appreciate it more because of the wait."
A boy quietly closed the door, and crept back to his room.
John flopped down on his bed, tossing a game cartridge off of his pillow. "I've been looking forward to that console for months! How could he?!?!"
After several minutes, he produced a small walkie talkie from under his mattress.
"Hello? Al, are you there?"
The radio crackled. "Yes."
"I just overheard Dad's planning to make me wait months longer to get my new console. You know how long I've already been looking forward to it! What should I do?"
"They still think you believe in Santa, right?"
"Yeah. So?"
"When you get a chance to talk to them, use that to play the guilt card. Gets them every time!"
"Great idea Al, thanks!"
John put the walkie talkie back in its hiding place. "Dad was right, they're really hard to find. I better get busy now, so he has more time to look."
John went into the kitchen, and got a few cookies. He made sure that the cookie jar lid rattled. Then he opened the fridge, took out the milk, and shut the door as loudly as possible.
By the time he was seated, Dad was in the doorway. "Can't sleep?"
"Sorry Dad, I hope I didn't wake you. I'm just so excited about Santa coming with my new console! I can't believe I'll be able to start the new year with Aliens Mind-controlled. I can't wait!"
Dad looked away. "What if Santa ran out of them, and had to make more? He might even make another delivery run in a couple of months if that happened."
John laughed. "Very funny, Dad. Santa always has enough. He's magic."
"Right... hand me one of those cookies, will you?"
When John got back to his room, he did a silent fist pump in victory. "Now he has to find one."
John went to sleep with a smile on his face.
The next morning after breakfast, he grabbed his bat and ball. "I'll see you in a few hours, I'm playing ball with the guys."
Mom smiled. "Have fun, and be back in time for lunch."
Mocha heard the door slam, followed by John's contented whistling. His tail wagged furiously, and he slipped out into the bright December day.
Before John was halfway down his drive, Mocha was trotting beside him.
John's hand brushed the top of the big dog's head, and he jumped, dropping his ball and bat.
As fast as thought, Mocha had retrieved the ball. He sat expectantly, tail swishing back and forth.
John carefully took the ball out of the powerful jaws. "Thanks for getting the ball. Now go on home, before Mom sees you. She doesn't like dogs, she says you're too messy."
He picked up his bat, and continued towards the park.
Instinctively Mocha hung back a few feet.
"Milly Cleary..." whispered John, watching three girls play on the slide. He set the ball and bat down behind a bush, and smoothed his hair and shirt.
"What can I do to make her like me? Last time I tried to talk to her, my voice stopped working."
As if in reply, Mocha brought the ball, and sat in front of John.
"Didn't I tell you to go home? I can see you have a collar and tag. Get going!"
The dog simply wagged his tail, and stuck his neck forward offering the ball.
John took it thoughtfully. "Can you hold other things too? Let's see..."
He picked several of the brightest flowers from a flower pot, and presented the stems to the dog. "Can you hold these, like you do that ball?"
Mocha obediently opened his mouth, and gently took them.
"Good boy. Now go over to those girls."
The big dog cocked his head.
John crouched beside him, and pointed towards the slide. "Go!"
That was a command he understood, and Mocha streaked towards the small group, flowers still in his mouth.
"Watch out, Joan! Milly, get out of the way. There's a big dog headed right for you!" shouted a girl at the top of the slide.
One of the girls hastily climbed the ladder, while the other crouched and clapped her hands.
John sprinted forward from his hiding place. "I'm sorry, I hope he wasn't bothering you."
The girl stood, laughing. "Not at all, I love dogs. But why was he bringing me flowers?"
John's face turned deep red. "Uh... he wasn't. I mean he did. I was teaching him a trick when he saw you, and wanted to say hello."
"A trick?"
"A... Christmas... trick... for... for... for... Mom.
Milly petted the dog, and looked at the tag. "Mocha. It fits him. What's the trick going to be?"
"He's... he's going to give Mom some flowers on Christmas morning."
As John said that, he impulsively took the bouquet away from the dog, bowed, and presented them to Milly.
Her cheeks turned bright pink, and she giggled softly as she accepted them.
John's face became even redder.
Mocha looked back towards where the ball and bat had been left.
John looked at his shoes, and scraped a line in the dirt. "Sorry again if he startled you. We have to be going, we're going to meet some friends in a few minutes."
After their goodbyes, John walked calmly until he reached the bushes, then did a celebratory dance.
"Good boy! Maybe I should ask for a dog like you instead of the console."
At that moment, he noticed the dog's ribs. "Are you lost? You sure look hungry."
He looked at the collar. "Mocha... you've got a really nice collar and tag. But no phone number. What happened?"
The big dog stretched, and laid at his feet.
On his way home, John was deep in thought. "Would you mind spending some time in Al's clubhouse? I sure can't hide you at home, and it looks like you aren't going away on your own. You have to go somewhere until Christmas."
"John, my parents would kill me if they found him. I had to beg for five straight years before they let me have Ruff last year."
"You don't have to take him inside. We'll see if he's used to a kennel, and if he is, he can stay in Ruff's, in the clubhouse?"
Al frowned. "We can see how he acts, but he better not make a lot of noise. If he does, I'm going to have to put him out."
John grinned. "It's a deal!"
Mocha happily ate a meal of moist kibble, then settled into the kennel as if it were home.
John locked it, and the dog didn't react. "Thanks, Al."
The waiting was almost unbearable for John. The more time he spent with Mocha, the more he wanted to keep him.
"I've never really been interested in having a dog before. But this one is..." Unsure of how to explain it, he just grinned.
After brushing his teeth on Christmas Eve, he crept to his parents room, and opened the door a crack. He waited several minutes.
"I don't know what I'm going to say tomorrow. John's absolutely convinced that Santa will come through. But there's no Pyramid Console available anywhere."
"I know he has to find out sometime. I'm just sorry it has to be this year. I'd give anything if he could just have one more year of belief."
John couldn't stop smiling. "Mocha's mine. I can't wait to bring him home."
When he was sure his parents were asleep, he went over to Al's, and brought Mocha home for the first time.
"You'll have to sleep under the bed, in case Mom or Dad come in. But it's only for a few hours, then you'll be mine forever."
The dog obediently crawled under the bed.
Despite being an early riser, John didn't sleep that night. He stared at the clock until almost six, then got up. "Come on out, Mocha. It's now or never."
He quietly went to the front door, and let Mocha out.
The dog disappeared for a couple of minutes, then returned.
"Good boy. Now it's time to meet my parents. Please show them how good you are!"
Once Mocha was inside, John loudly shut the door, and squealed in delight. "Mom! Dad! Guess what Santa brought?!?! He's exactly what I asked for!"
The two startled adults stumbled out of their room, somewhere between sleep and panic.
Mom's grogginess cleared first. She crossed her arms, frowning as she looked at her son hugging a large shepherd mix in the middle of the living room. "John, why is there a dog in the house?"
John looked at her, and beamed. "Yesterday I noticed how many of the kids at the park had dogs, and how happy they were together. So I wrote Santa that instead of the Pyramid Console, I want a dog that won't be messy, or cause you any trouble. And when I woke up, I heard a noise outside. And here he is!"
Mom sat down, almost missing the couch. "Wait, you're saying that you told Santa that you want a dog, instead of the Pyramid Console?"
He beamed again, hugging Mocha tighter. "I sure did, isn't he cool?"
The two adults looked at each other, eyebrows raised high. They both nodded at the same time.
Mom spoke slowly. "That's wonderful, John. We have to make sure that he really is from Santa though. I have to put up fliers. Just to be sure, you understand. But if he doesn't belong to anyone, and if he really is well behaved, I guess Santa knows best."
"Thanks, Mom. I knew you wouldn't mind if I changed my mind about the console. You never even play on my old one. I'd like to go back to my room, and show my dog where he's going to be sleeping, if that's alright?"
Mom nodded.
"I've got to tell Al that it worked," he whispered to Mocha after he shut the door.
John rushed to the bed, and felt for his walkie talkie. "What's this?" he asked, as he pulled out a bright blue nylon leash, with a card attached to the handle.
"Merry Christmas John and Mocha. Every time you use this leash, remember that Christmas is more than getting the latest toy.
Love, Santa
PS: lying is naughty, but I'll let it slide just this once."
Cover image made in Canva Pro using their gallery