A Shiloh Christmas by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

Author:Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers

eleven

I SURE AS HECK DIDN’T want the job of telling Judd that one of his dogs was dead.

If this had been a couple of years ago, it could have been Judd himself who killed it in a fit over how it didn’t snap to soon enough when he whistled. Like I said, he never even cared enough to give his dogs names. All he cared about was how they could help him hunt each fall. Now it was November—deer season—he don’t even have a gun. Those burned up too. Only thing he goes in the woods for now is to find his dogs.

I think he first started to feel something for them back when I earned Shiloh from him; after Shiloh saved his life by letting us know Judd had run his truck into a ditch and was hurt bad; and then, when he saved Shiloh, by jumping in Middle Island Creek last spring when it turned into a river. After we fenced in Judd’s backyard for him, giving his dogs a place to run instead of being chained, they got more playful. And now that they’re gone, he misses a dog more than he ever thought he could.

I couldn’t find my voice to tell Dr. Collins it was me who let those dogs out. I know he’d say it was better than letting them burn—I was giving them a chance. But I never thought they’d get all the way down here to St. Mary’s.

When Dad picks me up, I tell him how worried I am of what Judd might do, he finds out one of his dogs got run over—start drinkin’ and drivin’ crazy. . . .

“Marty, where you get the idea you’re responsible for what Judd does or don’t do?” says Dad. “He’s had problems before you ever came along. Judd’s a grown man—got to make his own choices.”

I guess I’m worrying Judd might get the idea that he give up Shiloh too soon and want him back again—that Shiloh once and always will belong to him, no matter what, especially since I’m the one let those dogs out.

On the way home I’m wrestling with why I didn’t ask Dr. Collins if he’d seen the white dog around there somewhere, and what I should do next. Make some posters about the missing dog, that’s one thing I haven’t tried. But first, I got to face Judd.

When there’s bad news to be told, though, I think it’s better to come right out with it; the more disguises you put on it, the bigger the shock when it jumps out at you.

So I’m waiting out on the porch when Judd gets home from Whelan’s. Ma’s left him a big piece of caramel cake, and I watch him park his truck and walk over.

I hand him the foil-wrapped package and say, “Got some bad news, Judd. It’s about your brown dog.” And then, when I see his face is ready for the worst, that’s what I give him: “He got hit by a car down near St.

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