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| The Christmas Feather |
Samantha shrugged, staring at the blinking lights without really seeing them. Her shoulders slumped beneath the weight of a sadness that had wrapped itself around her ever since Barkley had gone. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.
Her mother crouched beside her, a flicker of worry crossing her face. “Come on,” she said gently. “There’s got to be something. A new doll? Some art supplies? What about a book?”
Samantha shook her head, her voice coming out barely above a whisper. “I don’t want anything.”
Her mother sighed softly, resting a hand on her knee. “I know it’s been hard without Barkley,” she said, her voice careful, like stepping on thin ice. “I miss him too, you know. But maybe this Christmas, we can find something new to make us smile. A little bit of joy. That’s what Barkley would’ve wanted, right?”
Samantha didn’t respond. She didn’t want new things. She didn’t want "joy." She wanted Barkley.
Her mother stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Well,” she said, forcing some cheer into her voice, “why don’t you get to bed, then? Santa will be here soon, and you never know—he might surprise you.”
Samantha’s eyes flicked toward the tiny tree on her dresser. The lights twinkled weakly, barely filling the room with their glow. Santa couldn’t bring Barkley back. Nobody could. But the thought clung to her, stubborn and insistent.
She hesitated at the doorway, watching her mother straighten the edge of her blanket. Then, without a word, Samantha turned back and pulled her desk chair over to her dresser. She rummaged through the drawer until she found an old piece of notebook paper and a stubby pencil.
If her mom thought Santa could surprise her, maybe it was worth a try.
Samantha sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, her hands folded over the crumpled letter she’d just finished writing. The paper was lined with faint smudges—tears she’d tried to wipe away but couldn’t stop. It wasn’t the kind of letter she’d ever thought she’d write to Santa.
No toys. No candy. No glittering baubles.
All she wanted was Barkley back.
Her fingers brushed against the old collar that sat beside her, its once-shiny metal tag dulled with scratches. It had been three months since she’d last heard the rhythmic thump-thump of Barkley’s tail greeting her after school, three months since she’d felt his wet nose press against her hand. The house felt so quiet without him, so empty, like the silence had grown teeth and was chewing through everything warm and good.
She sniffed, pushing away the sting of fresh tears. It wasn’t fair. Barkley wasn’t just a dog—he was her best friend, her secret keeper, the one who always knew how to make her smile even on the worst days. If Santa was real, if he could bring toys and stockings full of candy, why couldn’t he bring Barkley back?
She pressed the paper flat again and read her shaky handwriting one last time.
I don’t want anything for me this year. Just please bring Barkley back. Even for one day. I miss him so much. I’ll do anything if you can help.
Love, Samantha.
She folded the letter and tucked it under the small ceramic tree that sat on her dresser. It wasn’t much—her mom hadn’t decorated the house this year. But Samantha had insisted on at least this one piece of Christmas, this one light in the middle of the sadness.
Before bed, she whispered into the darkness, “If you’re listening… I hope you’ll answer.”
The first thing Samantha noticed when she woke up the next morning was the soft glimmer of white against her pillow. She rubbed her eyes and blinked, her heart skipping a beat. A single feather lay there, shimmering faintly in the sunlight that crept through the blinds.
She picked it up, holding it carefully between her fingers. It was perfect—pristine and pure, like freshly fallen snow. A shiver danced down her spine. She had no idea where it had come from. She glanced around the room, then up at the ceiling, but there were no birds, no feathers anywhere else. Just this one. And somehow, it felt… special.
As she stared at it, a sound broke through the quiet morning air—a faint, high-pitched bark.
Her heart leapt into her throat. “Barkley?” she whispered, throwing off her blanket and racing to the window. She pressed her face against the frosted glass, her breath fogging the pane as she searched the snowy front yard.
There, nestled beneath the bare branches of the oak tree, was a tiny ball of fluff shivering in the snow. Its fur was golden-brown, with floppy ears that twitched at every sound, and when it looked up at her, its dark, wide eyes seemed to hold a question.
Samantha gasped, yanking on her coat and boots as fast as she could. She nearly slipped on the icy steps in her rush to reach the puppy, her breath coming out in frantic puffs. “Hey there,” she murmured, dropping to her knees in the snow. “Where did you come from, huh?”
The puppy whimpered, taking a hesitant step toward her. Its tail wagged timidly, and Samantha’s heart melted. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’ve got you.” She scooped the little dog into her arms, wrapping her coat around its trembling body. The puppy nestled against her chest, and for the first time in months, the ache in her heart felt… lighter.
Back inside, Samantha dried the puppy off with an old towel, marveling at how small and fragile it felt in her hands. She couldn’t stop staring at it—at the way it blinked up at her, its nose twitching as if to say, I’m here now. She thought about the feather on her pillow, the bark she’d heard, and the way this tiny dog had appeared as if out of nowhere.
Her eyes drifted to Barkley’s old collar, still sitting on her dresser. She felt a lump rise in her throat. “Did you… did you send him?” she whispered, clutching the puppy a little closer. “Is this your way of telling me it’s okay to love someone new?”
She didn’t know how to explain it, but deep down, she felt certain Barkley was still with her somehow. Maybe it was the feather. Maybe it was the timing. Or maybe it was the way this new puppy rested its head against her chest, just like Barkley used to do when she was sad.
Samantha smiled through her tears. “You’re not Barkley,” she said softly to the puppy, “but I think you’re exactly who I need right now.”
The puppy wagged its tail as if to agree.
That evening, Samantha sat by the little ceramic tree, the puppy curled up in her lap. She’d decided to name him Lucky, because finding him felt like the luckiest thing that had happened to her in a long time. The feather still sat on her nightstand, glowing faintly in the twinkling light from the tree.
As the house filled with the sound of Lucky’s soft snores, Samantha picked up Barkley’s old collar and held it in her hands. “I’ll always love you,” she whispered, her voice steady and sure. “Thank you for sending me someone new to love.”
Outside, the snow began to fall again, blanketing the world in quiet. And somewhere, in the warmth of her heart, Samantha felt Barkley’s paw print, as deep and steady as ever.
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