William's Gift
Fat dogs, thin dogs, stump-tailed canines, red Chow mixes with long black tongues, a three-legged hound, spotted dogs, wrigglers, yawners, ragged mop dogs, trash eaters, chicken chasers banished from the ranch for eating one hen too many…
William Tafoya peered into each kennel, his mood falling quicker than the sleet outside the barred windows. It was his first visit to the Santa Fe Animal Shelter, his first Christmas Eve without his daughter Elena and her hitas, the first time he'd contemplated giving a gift to a woman outside his immediate family since Joyce left him five years ago, and he'd bet money it was the first time there wasn't a single puppy to be found in town.
For William Tafoya, this would be an evening resplendent with firsts.
"I' m sorry, but our last puppy was adopted yesterday," said the white-haired clerk. "Is it a Christmas gift for someone special?" she inquired in a knowing tone, gazing at him over her spectacles as if she had some inside information regarding his feelings for Sandy Hopper.
Panic rose in William' s throat at the thought of being found out. He'd told no one his secret, not even Elena who was in Mexico for the holidays with her husband's family. He'd barely admitted it to himself.
The know-it-all clerk made a point of looking at the clock on the wall as the minute hand clicked into place. 4:35 p.m. She folded her beefy arms and leaned across the counter. "You tried the pet stores, honey?"
Every last one of them, he thought as he wandered past the kennels of the inmate dogs, hoping against hope to find a single pup misplaced among them, something cuddly enough to make Sandy Hopper smile this Christmas Eve. He hadn't seen as much as a trace of one cross that pretty face since she'd asked him to finish construction on the Tesuque house, even though she'd be living there alone now. She'd lost her husband Harry in an automobile accident just last spring as the adobes were being laid, and the pain was still fresh in her.
Yesterday on the job, he'd found her staring at a blank wall in the massive living room, yards of plaster yet to dry. Before he could leave her to her thoughts, she turned to face him, hazel eyes brimming with tears. A single drop slipped across the freckles on her nose.
"You know what I'd like, Will?"
He froze, guilty at invading her privacy. "No, what?," he asked, suddenly painfully aware of his large hands hanging heavy at his sides. He shoved them deep inside his coat pockets, not sure what to do.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'd like a good dog to keep me company in this big house."
He nodded, thinking how frail she looked with her cap of auburn hair framing her face now pale and drawn, thin arms hugging her tiny frame close beneath a sweater he remembered seeing more than once on Harry.
It was a place to start.
With little hope, he paused in front of Kennel Number 14. A single whine rushed down the aisle from the far corner of the building, broke over him in a wave of howls, yelps, yips, barks, and suddenly he forgot how to breathe. Fifty-three years of Catholicism had not prepared him for this one.
Seated on the floor next to the ugliest dog he'd ever seen was a man with wings.
William removed his cowboy hat, rubbed his fingers through his still jet hair, held it in his rough hands.
Huge unwieldy wings.
Wings like those of a giant guinea fowl or something from one of those "B" movies that Elena’s hitas love to watch.
"Heavenly Father." William heard the words slipping from his mouth as his knees went weak. He gripped the kennel door and stared. Let his Stetson drop to the floor.
Feathers flew about Kennel Number 14 as if there'd been a scrape, and while feathers seemed almost natural to the man, the eyes did not. Deep set in a face of timeless perfection, the eyes were old, tired, like they had seen many things. With just a hint of the wild country glimmering underneath.
Unable to meet his eyes, William glanced around wildly, but the shelter was empty. No employees, no last-minute lookers, no children toting puppies, no trumpets, no timbrels, no lutes or harps like the sisters at St. Francis Cathedral claimed were the standard accompaniment to miracles, just the din of barking dogs.
Beneath the buzzing of fluorescent lights, the man with wings looked way too real. Like a chicken in a coop two sizes too small, one wing arced against the concrete wall, the other wrapped protectively around the ugly dog with vacant eyes. The dog growled at William, low and guttural, the fur stiff along its spine like brown indoor/outdoor carpet. The winged man stroked the animal’s block-shaped head until it yawned, crinkled jowls unfolding to show clean white teeth and a spotted tongue.
"You see him too." A voice behind him. It was a statement, not a question. Gnarled fingers laced through the wire along side of his own, one sporting the biggest diamond he'd ever seen, and judging from the accent …
"Texas," said the tiny woman grinning up at him as if she'd read his mind. Her voice was like a bell, and from the lines that etched her face she must have been at least 80 years old. "I moved to Santa Fe from Dallas, some 50-odd years ago," she continued, nodding in the direction of the man with the wings. "And that's when I first laid eyes on Miguel."
"You know his name?" William inhaled sharply, mind racing, wondering how she'd managed to sneak up on him.
"Why, yes, of course." The old lady studied him carefully. Her gray eyes twinkled. "This is your first time to see him?"
William cast an anxious glance towards Kennel Number 14 where the ugly dog was now reclining against the winged man, it’s head lolling against one feathered shoulder. "Uh-huh."
The woman patted him on the arm. "Well then, my dear, it probably won't be your last."
"What do you mean?" The idea that she might be one of those fruit loopy crystal types crossed his mind. Santa Fe was overrun with them now. There were more here per square foot than in California. He knew, he’d built a lot of houses for folks who were trying to escape the West Coast craziness. Before he knew it she would be reading his astrological chart and dealing Tarot cards. He started to protest, but she continued.
"The first time I saw Miguel was in 1943, when I lost my husband in the war." Her pale eyes clouded, looked inward a distance. "The second was in 1947, when I met Daniel, my second husband, and the third …" she crossed her arms as if concealing a deep hurt. She was silent for a moment.
William had never been a big one for words. He had not a single syllable right now.
"The third time was when I found out I couldn't have children."
He hardly noticed the ugly dog leaning against the kennel door now, sniffing his hand as the woman recounted the events of her life on her fingertips.
"The fourth and fifth times I saw him were when we adopted our babies. The sixth was when Daniel got the cancer." She hugged herself tight as if to ward off a chill. "And the seventh is today." She eyed William with her wide, clear eyes, as if memorizing the features of his face.
It was damned unnerving. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't.
"It's been my experience," she leaned close and whispered, "that heaven meets you in person like this only when there's something very important at stake."
William didn't hear the rustling of wings inside the kennel. His eyes were riveted to hers.
"Have you been praying very hard for something?"
It was the first time anyone had ever asked him that question. Not even the priest with the red high-topped tennis shoes at the St. Francis Cathedral.
He pulled a single feather from the kennel gate, ran his finger along the dove-gray quill too real to be ignored. It had been a lonely five years, almost too much to bear. Yes, he nodded, biting back the tears, then a moment of panic, suddenly remembering what he was here for. It must be nearly 5 p.m., and he still didn't have Sandy’s puppy.
The woman took his hand, squeezed it hard. "Then I suggest you take our angel's advice and give this good dog to your friend."
Relief flooded over William. For the first time in days, he knew exactly what to do. He looked up to thank the woman and ask her how she'd known about Sandy, but to his surprise the aisle was as empty as it had been five minutes ago, and the ugly dog sat back on its haunches, whimpering, the only occupant of Kennel Number 14.
Enormous downy flakes of snow fell in the Tesuque Valley as William pulled into Sandy Hopper's driveway 15 minutes late. A string of colored lights illuminated the tiny Airstream trailer she’d parked next to the unfinished adobe, so he guessed she was still expecting him for dinner.
The ugly dog licked his face.
William wrapped an arm around the stocky beast, praying that Sandy wouldn't laugh at his Christmas gift. The Animal Shelter clerk had assured him that at seven months old, he was still a puppy of sorts. And his looks were kind of growing on William.
A shaft of light cut through the curtain of snow as the trailer door swung open.
William snapped the brand-new leash to the brand-new collar, events of the afternoon teeming inside of him, things that he would keep to himself for some time. One of these days, he would be able to tell her. "Here we go, fella." He ruffled the dog’s brindle fur, and stepped out of the truck.
Sandy walked across the yard, waving, and when she saw the ugly, jug-headed pup trailing along behind him through the snow, a smile broke across her face, radiant, beaming, the first one he'd seen in months.
It was a place to start.
