Christmas holds a very frightening, yet special memory for me. I will never forget one particular December when a joyful holiday turned into a nightmare.
I had just turned fifteen, and it was two days before Christmas. We lived in Utah at the time, and the falling December snow was new and fluffy. My father had decided to take my mother and siblings to the movies. This was an unusual occurrence, because my parents were very religious, and they never went to movies during Christmas week. But Dad decided he just had to see THE AMERICANIZATION OF EMILY with Julie Andrews. Holiday or not, he was going.
I wasn’t feeling well, and was left behind on the couch, my head on a pillow and the rest of me wrapped in a blanket. The tree lights were blinking in the dark, there were lovely Christmas carols on the radio, and stacks of presents encircled the tree. Except for the soft snoring of Jade, my German Shepherd, the house was peaceful. I should have enjoyed the holiday mood, but I didn’t. I was all alone, too busy feeling sorry for myself, when I heard a strange noise outside.
I quickly realized that someone was out back and removing the screen from behind our curtained window! My sick stomach felt even sicker. Terrified, I listened as the intruder started removing the first of five louvers that made up the back yard window.
The nearest police station was a half hour away, and a phone call would be useless. I quickly realized that the only chance I had was to open the back door and let Jade out. Jade was not a barker, but he DID hate strangers, and wasn’t afraid to use his teeth. Unfortunately, the back door was right next to the window, and I was terrified. I must have stared at that door for an eternity while I silently counted those louvers being removed until only two were left. I knew it would be too late when he took out the last one and climbed inside. He was using a knife to open those louvers. What would he do if he saw me?
I would HAVE to open the door and let Jade out before the intruder came in. Shivering with fear, I crept off the couch, the dog at my side. Closing my eyes because I was too frightened to look, I prayed for strength, then yanked opened the door, let Jade out, and slammed it shut, locking it again.
I raced to the kitchen to hide under the sink. Curled up in that dark place with the garbage, potatoes, and dishwasher soap, I shook with fear. Why did I get sick? Why wasn’t I at the movies with everyone else? I fervently wished I owned a dog that barked like other dogs, because I couldn’t see him. Jade could be dead, the man could be in the house… Anything could be happening.
Finally, I heard a loud scratching sound. It was my dog’s familiar signal to be let back into the house. I finally mustered up enough courage to leave my hiding place and open the back door. There, in the newly fallen pristine snow, were my dog’s paw prints. And alongside of them were the fresh footprints of a man’s boots as he ran away.
He was gone and I was safe. Our intruder was never caught, but it didn’t matter. I drew strength from my loyal dog, fought my fear, and won.
Every Christmas I think of that day. That memory is still just as fresh now as when it happened decades years ago. And while I thanked God and Jade for my safety, I grieved for what I lost. That evening marked my abrupt transition from innocence to adulthood. Ironically, on a holiday that celebrates one very special child–I stopped being a child.
That was the price I paid on Christ’s birthday years ago. And although he is long gone, I remember and celebrate my beloved Jade every December. My four-footed protector gave me the best Christmas present I’ve ever received—my life.
THE END