By Brenda Kay Ledford
My beautiful black lab, Pepper, got cancer. The veterinarian gave my dog only a few weeks to live. He suggested I put my best friend down. That would be the most humane thing to do. I finally relented to animal euthanasia. It was the hardest decision I ever made. I grieved for Pepper and vowed to never own another dog. He was just like family.
Christmas came on the heels of my pet’s death. It would be the worst holiday ever. I decided to not decorate my house. I just couldn’t get into a jolly mood. Without my beloved dog, I didn’t want to observe the holiday. The stores stocked Christmas items before Thanksgiving. Whenever I walked into a business, the upbeat songs made me cringe. What was so merry about this holiday?
A week before Christmas, I glanced out the window as snowflakes twirled across the Blue Ridge Mountains. When Pepper was alive, I wrapped a scarf around his neck and he went sledding with me. Back then, I looked forward to celebrating Christmas.
As I gazed out the kitchen window, a creature slinked through the snow. It froze in the yard, and our eyes locked. The cat meowed, jumped, and clawed my window. She was actually pretty with her ginger stripes and white paws. I tossed food outside.
On Christmas Eve, I was sweeping my porch when she appeared. I reached out my hand and she licked it. I stroked her fur and she purred. She wrapped around my legs and begged to be my animal. That’s how Gingerbread became my special Christmas present.