Post by Shadow Dearly on Dec 25, 2022 8:03:10 GMT -5
Okay, Merry Christmas, everyone! It's Christmas morning, and my Secret Santa this year is General! He asked for a story in which his OC Stirfry wanted to bring some Christmas cheer to some of the other junkyard dogs. I added my own person spin. And I tried my best to keep this story PG/PG-13.
I wrote this story completely by hand with the use of a medium nib Lamy Safari, a beginner level fountain pen. Please give me constructive criticism because this is my first time writing Stirfry. Who knows, maybe they'll be a sequel some day. Or when I feel like writing one about the other characters, giving them more depth. The pinnacle of fiction can only be achieved by accepting criticism well. It's how we learn. It's how to make stories better.
“A Stirfry Christmas”
By: Shadow Dalmatian
December. The twelfth month of the year. Light snow is falling, a calming breeze in the air. All around, broken down cars look as if they had a serious case of dandruff. And yes, I’m acutely aware that the year’s coming to an end. You don’t need to tell me that.
I hear Christmas music coming from a building in which humans seem to come and go. Don’t ask me what it looks like from the inside. . . I’ve never been indoors. Every time I got close to the entrance, I always hear, “No, Stirfry!”, or the ever popular, “Out, darn mongrel!”
And to think these people are dog lovers. The snow is only a light dust. If it picks up, I know they’ll let us in for warmth. But something must be valuable if they’re not letting us inside.
It appears I forgotten to introduce myself. The name’s Stirfry. I got the name because for some reason I get electrocuted on a regular basis. I’m surprised I’m still alive. I’m a mostly brown scruffy mutt with floppy ears, a white belly and fore legs and paws and brown hind legs and paws. And a darker shade of brown can never be missed upon my back. Green collar and I wear goggles because I find them fashionable. I’m plump, obviously, from the good food I get here. (Even though I’m not allowed to go into the office—except for emergencies—I can expect the owners to be vital in feeding me, even if I annoy them at times.) But don’t expect me to forage for food in the garbage. I’m better than that. I’m a dog. Not a rat.
However, as I look through the junkyard, accompanied by my companion Tom, a wrench that speaks his mind, I am dumbfounded by this place, and how it looks holiday deserted. I don’t know how Christmas is celebrated, but I know humans sometimes go overboard decorating the interior and exterior of their homes in various colorful—in which I call Gay—or the same— very original—bulbs. And darn it, I want this barren junkyard to have some Christmas spirit. One wreath is not enough. There should be bulbs strewn around the place; a neon sign that blinks “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays.” And a tree!
No, I’m not calling Sandy here. Decorating a tree with skeletons, skulls, and pumpkins and having black and purple tinsel, with matching purple bulbs, may work for Sandy, but it doesn’t set well for my taste.
I’m all everything made from scrap. It’s my expertise. Nevertheless, something must be done. Why only decorate one room but never anywhere else? Laziness? It’s preposterous.
Furthermore, there’s something about December that fills me with the utmost joy. I don’t mind the cheesy Christmas carols, and I find it hard to sing along. It’s as if there’s a hidden charm in those songs that makes people sing along. Nobody’s immune. I don’t know who has a problem with the holidays.
I venture deeper in the junkyard, passing cars that met their maker—rusted, with all four wheels gone—when I encounter them. The other canine patrons. The first, a burly Rottweiler, fit and in shape from working out, is seen laying his back against one of the cars. Interior, his fur’s chocolate brown that compliments his exterior black fur. His forepaws match his interior fur, while his hind paws correspond to his exterior. Ice blue eyes, that could cause others to swoon, is his secret weapon. He was the first person I’ve met, and he’s got a fitting name: Rex. Under his right eye is a scar, but good luck getting Rex to explain how he got it. All I know is that he nearly had his bad eye surgically removed.
Next to Rex is a canine with light to dark grey fur, white paws, ice blue eyes, and a curly tail. In case you’re zoning off, or don’t speak Dog, the second dog’s a Husky. A red and green checkered scarf wrapped around his neck. His name is Shade, and he’s very festive during Christmas, especially with his ample stomach. He could be Santa Paws! Along with Rex and Shade, a Golden Retriever laid next to them. He is an astronomy geek to which I can relate. I’ve my own interest in which others may eye me weirdly. Golden fur. Well-prepped. Green collar. Like the others, he too has a human sounding name: Thomas. As I eye at his emerald green eyes, he eyes back.
“Hello, Stirfry,” said the Golden Retriever, sullen. “I suspect that you’re having better days than us. What graces us your presence?” I can sense a sadness in his tone. One that I can’t seem to place my paw on. Still, he nudged the others. “Hey, look alive you two. Stirfry’s here.”
“Hey, Shade, I love the new scarf. It’s very fitting to you.” I gave a slight smile, hoping to pick off their heavy boulders from their backs, or do something that ends up shocking the four of us, plus Tom. However, Tom doesn’t like being electrocuted, but I don’t mind it. It happens to me so much that I’ve lost count. “You look festive.”
“What’s so great about it?” scoffed the Rottweiler. “It’s just another day in December. Thomas is upset because the weather’s not permitting us to see the Geminids tonight, Shade learned his best mate’s ghosted him all along, and me. . . I don’t want to talk about it.”
Shade snickered and said, “You stubbed your toe on a car bumper and swore like a sailor on the open seas.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t set a world record in swearing.” Thomas interjected.
Rex growled, eyeing both with icy eyes. “Shut up, you bozos! The last thing I want is to relive the past.”
“Hey, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Thomas shrugged, smirking at the Rottweiler. “Surely, she wouldn’t approve of your language.” He and Shade ruffled their paws on Rex’s body; I could tell he was on the verge of flying off the handle. It will be easy for me to make my muzzle move before Rex could do something he’ll regret later.
However, Tom had other plans and he slammed down hard upon the skulls of Shade, Thomas, and Rex. They appeared dazed, tongues out, rotating stars above their bruises. “TOM!” I yelped. “I’m so sorry, you three! I guess Tom spoke his opinion.” I icily glared at Tom. “Tom, apologize to the three.”
“Gah, my head hurts!” Rex said, feeling a bump on the top of his head, coming to himself. He glared at Tom. “Dude, that was totally uncalled for!”
“Mmmm. . . what day is it today?” Shade asked, dazed. “Monday? Wednesday? Are we in January yet?”
Thomas groaned and sat up, rubbing his head. He then eyed down and with wide-eyes, switched positions, laying on his stomach, and refused to move. There’s no need to explain what is happening to Thomas, but it seems to happen with him more often than not.
“Thomas? What’s going on?” I asked. “You sat up and then quickly laid back down in a heartbeat.”
“Oh, nothing. . . nothing’s going on! I’m completely fine!” Thomas said, his body still, his brain channel surfing through different thought bubbles as way to make him feel normal. “So, Junkyard. You came to ask us something?”
“Okay. . .” I nodded, collecting myself. I gaze the barren landscape. “Guys, do you think the junkyard will be decorated in time for Christmas?”
Rex shrugged. “Ordinarily, I don’t celebrate any holiday. What’s the point in decorating for a few weeks, only to take them down when the holidays are over?” Side note: Rex doesn’t understand religion—and what Christmas is about—and he doesn’t want to hear about it. “Do you see the office building there?” Thomas, Shade, Tom, and I eyed to the main office. “I was able to see through the window, and I saw an elongated plus symbol with a golden man planted on it. I have no idea what it was, so I marked my territory and moved on.”
Shade smiled and rubbed Rex’s head, his own throbbing diminishing. Rex allowed the head rub, leaning into the Husky. “Come on,” he replied. “Just think. Christmas is coming, which means there’s a chance for me to be under the mistletoe. If we get mistletoe.”
“Shade, how would you meet someone if you never make a move? You never make a move. It’s what differentiates you from me and Thomas.” Rex grinned in return. Shade’s ears folded back. “Look at us. How did we find girls? By leaving the junkyard and evading the doggy police.”
“Guys! No offense, but may we focus on decorating?” I asked, wanting to get back on topic. “We are in the Christmas season, and I want to make sure we have this junkyard ready.” Tom nudged me in the leg, and I brought him to my ears to hear what he has to say. “Good idea, Tom! Tom says that by decorating, your woes will be healed! Doing a job well done always makes me feel better.” I said. The snow started to feel uncomfortable on my fur, so I shook it off.
“I think our woes melted away when Tom bonked us hard on the noggin!” said Thomas, getting up on his paws. He eyed down and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, if we work now we could finish before the snow accumulates.”
Shade analyzed the snow-white junkyard and knew that something must be done. “Stirfry’s right. It’s our chance to be creative!” he wagged his curly tail. “And we can use whatever we can find here!”
“Of course! And I call dibs on the scrap metal!” We may not have access to expensive decorations, but bring me some scrap and I’ll get to work. Being in a junkyard, it’s hard not to find scrap.
“It shouldn’t be too hard to find scrap here,” said Thomas, eyeing the vehicles that already met its maker from the mechanism the Retriever calls ‘The Crusher.’ Simply put a car under it and activate, and it becomes a pancake in record time! We forage from the remains, trying to see what we can collect, when Thomas said, “I think we have everything right here.”
“A car bumper, parts of an engine, some headlights,” said Shade, picking up car parts with his forelegs. “Just think what we can make with these!” I don’t think he minds the snow. Of course, it isn’t because he’s a husky. That’d be stereotypical.
So, we have to get to work before the snow accumulates. Soon, Rex gets an idea. “Before my paws freeze, we should. . .” He pointed to the vehicles that weren’t destroyed by The Crusher. “We can decorate the cars.”
Shade nodded, smiling at the Rottweiler. He then eyed the collection so far: Scrap after scrap after scrap. “I’ll be honest, Stirfry. I’ve never worked with scrap metal before. I always leave the job to you.”
“You just allow your creativity blossom,” I said, ruffling the snow away by the use of my paws. “It’s quite easy working with scrap. If you’re not apprehensive in doing some welding.” Eyeing the cars, I imagine wreaths made of scrap on each and every one of the cars, covering them all with multi-colored holiday lights. I eye Rex, who scuffed the snowy ground with a paw. “Rex, you and Thomas should create some wreaths by using these,” I pawed toward the pile of scrap. “The welder should be around here somewhere. . .”
“And what if it’s in the building?” Rex replied. “It’s not as if one of us has the ability to shape-shift into a human. I’ll go get the welder.” He scurried off, and I’m hoping he doesn’t get chastised by the owners of this joint. However, we’re not the only animals here. There are felines as well, and no they don’t get special treatment. Which is surprising.
A moment later, Rex returns with the welder and a welding helmet. “Stirfry, I’ve been thinking. You’re the only one with expertise, so I deputize you to do the welding. Thomas, Shade, and I can do something that doesn’t cause us to burn ourselves.” he said. “The three of us could sneak away and find some tinsel and find unused decorations.”
The downside of the Christmas holidays is that I get so excited I forget that the boys have no experience with scrap. However, this is a perfect time to introduce them to it. “No, now more than ever you three need to learn how to work with scrap. It’s not that hard, and you’ll be glad that you’re helping the environment. All of these are recyclable.”
I get to work, weaving some scrap metal into a snowflake pattern, welding them into place so they won’t fall off. We had to share the welder at times, and I supervised the boys, and sometimes said, “THOMAS! NOT RIGHT THERE!” He almost welded his nether region. Which is important to watch what you’re doing. Still, the boys were hard at work attempting their metallic wreaths, made out the finest metallic source material, and had to be handled carefully, and they left me to do the heavy welding. It’s fun.
We’re so busy we don’t notice three figures watching us from afar. To them, we’re a bunch of nincompoops making a fool of ourselves.
Hours pass, and the first of the wreaths was completed. Thomas had his hind legs crossed together. I sighed. “Thomas, if you have to pee, go.” The Retriever scurried away to a secluded area as we place the wreath on the hood of a car.
“Thomas picked the perfect time to pee!” groaned Rex, making sure the wreath didn’t look askew. “Now, he’s off making yellow snow!”
As if on cue, Thomas rejoined to resume work on our Holiday job. More wreaths were constructed and placed on the hoods. Some looked askew, but I wagged my tail and happy that we’ve come this far. Christmas is not about hanging colorful lights and buying expensive gifts. It’s about spending time with friends and family, even if I don’t have any recollections of my family. I don’t know my parents, or if I have siblings. And I don’t know if they wonder the same.
“I’ve to say, I’m feeling better already!” Rex said, his undocked tail its own propeller. “I forgotten about my grand mishap in November. And no, I won’t tell you what it is, because it’s gross sounding, but still. . . decorating seems to take my mind off from it. And I know Thomas and Shade will say the same.” Rex wagging his tail is a rarity, but it does happen. He can claim he’s a macho Rottweiler, but all macho men are softies. He doesn’t want me to tell you this, but he sometimes sleeps with a bunny plushie. I find it cute, but he threatened that he’ll tear me limb from limb if I told a soul.
Now for a tree. Rex eyed around the white-blanketed junkyard, trying to find something he could use for a tree. He eyed to the wreaths. Decisions. There comes a time when one has to choose between one of the other. “The wreaths need to be colorful, vivid, with red and green blinking lights.” he said. “We can get lights, but the obstacle is electricity.”
“I’ve got this,” Shade interjected, his scarf blowing in the wind. Snow began accumulating, which showed on the top of his head. “Now, hurry! I feel that the snow will pick up soon!”
I wondered how Shade will get the lights, and electricity, considering that the only source of power is inside the office, and I don’t want to be scolded. Plus, I don’t think we have any extension cords, and if we did we probably won’t have enough for the wreaths we made. Shade has his ways, and with that comes my trust in him. In the meantime, Rex, Thomas, and I left to find more scrap to make a tree, and Tom and I carried the welder. There must be hundreds of scrap to make a small or a medium sized tree, but no bigger than us combined.
“What do you think Shade has planned?” I asked.
Silence. Rex and Thomas are in the zone, sights set on the scrap. Getting as much as their paws can carry. I shrug, knowing Shade is doing his own thing to spruce up decorations, so I helped any way I can. The snow’s really coming down. What are the chances of us becoming pupsicles before Christmas arrives?
I lose myself in thoughts. We might not have lights, but the snow may bump up the metallic wreaths. They should stick. Unless they completely bury them. “The snow’s coming down. We may have to wait it out.” Thomas said to me and Rex. “I might not be able to see tonight’s performance of the Geminids, but I’d take this. If we weren’t working, I would totally beat your butts in a snowball fight.” As he chuckled, he got the same tingly feeling down south and said, “Uh. . . guys. . . do you mind going off without me? I have to do some things in private!” He rushed off before Rex and I could speak.
“I’ll keep Thomas in my thoughts,” Rex said as I squint my eyes and see colorful lights coming our way.
“What on earth?” I said. “Who goes there? Show yourself!”
Three felines. Remember, I told you earlier that felines regularly visit the junkyard. One’s an orange tabby, well built; the other two a Calico and Persian. The Calico was a tad heavy, and the Persian seemed to be in a contest to see if she outchubs the Calico. Scarves were wrapped around their necks. Each was helping the other carry battery-powered Christmas tree. That solves our tree problem. And I know what you’re thinking. Stirfry, Rex, you’re Canines, and the critters you’ve encountered are felines. Surely, you must be rivals.
Enough with the stereotypes. That isn’t the ordeal. It’s perfectly okay for canines and felines to coexist as equals. “Stirfry,” the Tabby cat, Tanya, said, “always getting in some kind of predicament. This day must be different. You haven’t been electrocuted yet, have you?”
“Not yet. And Tanya. . . always looking out for me.” I smirk. Tom was on high alert, waiting to strike. I made sure that Tom didn’t move an inch.
“The gals and I found this over yonder. Graciously, the tree still works. It’s battery powered, and I assumed someone placed new batteries in and forgot to turn on this thing.” Tanya showed us the tree, her tail flicking, eyes filled with wonder. Oh how she and the other cats wanted to pounce on the tree, but they kept their cool. “This just gives me whole lotta Christmas vibes. So what did you make?”
“Christmassy wreaths made entirely out of scrap.” I said, my tail imitating a turbine engine, or a fan.
“A Christmas tree: the centerpiece of holiday decorating.” Rex said, but his ears perked up. A faint holler. “Do you hear that?” The two other felines, Celia and Petra, eyed the Rottweiler. Celia, with her hazel eyes, showed curiosity, while Petra’s showed she was amused.
“Hear what?” Petra asked.
The wind soon picked up, the snowfall accumulating fast, obscuring our vision. Just what we needed. All of us falling victim to giant ice being dandruff flakes. Not to mention the cold. “Come on, we have to get back to safety.” Tanya said. The six of us, counting Tom, braved the snow. As long as we think about warmth, we should not be made into self-made popsicles in this storm. Boy are my paws starting to freeze, and as I tried looking at Rex and the three felines, I can expect them to feel the same. I hear the faint screams of a familiar voice. I think about Thomas, and his condition. Would snow and the cold make it worse. “Hear that voice. It has to be Shade.” I said to Petra.
What could be made to be blinking Christmas lights were strewn all over the metallic lights. As well as every other car and nook and crannies at the junkyard. The entire junkyard decorated for Christmas, a huge tree made from scrap placed right there in the middle, decorated in color and hope, and I hope the snow doesn’t destroy Shade’s creation. How long were we gone, and how fast Shade worked on this? What I could decipher is weeks of hard work done in a few short minutes. There must be one explanation. Christmas magic. An angel must be on our midst. Rex eyed towards Shade, and the snow seemed to play tricks on his eyes. He claimed he saw what appeared to be angel wings upon Shade’s back.
Shade smirked to the group, eyes narrowed, trying to see his friends. “See? I have my ways!”
“Woah, Shade!” Tanya exclaimed. “Maybe we should hire you full time to be our holiday decorator, or something like that.”
“I say. . . I’ve to think about that.” Shade replied. “But I like doing this for free, so I can look at the people’s faces when they say see hard I worked, making sure I did everything right.” The snow and cold ravaged through, but as long as we stick together, we’ll keep each other warm. Nobody’s about to die here. Not on Christmas Eve. “If I had to charge fellas, I would say. . . one bag of kibble?”
I agree with Shade wholeheartedly. “Come on, guys! We are filled with holiday spirit! Now’s this junkyard is so well decorated, people will become jealous!” Tom whacked at the snow, angry at how it decided to be a dummy, but snow on Christmas is both a blessing and a curse. Furthermore, something in me made me feel giddy.
“This here will be the one of the greatest Christmases we ever had,” Thomas said, walking up to us, his problem under control (for now.) He now has the opportunity to sing and have fun with his friends, and that is exactly what Christmas is supposed to be about here. His problem is permanent, but with friends by his side, they can help him get through it.
Hours pass, and the snow is starting to settle; everything didn’t rust, which is grand. We dusted off the car hoods, trying our best not to get cut with the metal; we took our time. By the time we were done, the three felines kept close together, enjoying the warmth that Celia and Petra gave; Rex and Thomas snuggled each other, the Retriever sighing lovingly, laying against the Rottweiler’s chest, his tail thumping against the snowy ground. As for me, I eye to the sky, wondering if we did enough. The junkyard doesn’t look barren, so why do I feel like I’ve didn’t do enough? Well, I helped with the torch; I scolded Thomas when he almost welded his privates; so if it wasn’t for me, Thomas would’ve had a one-way trip to the vet, along with a story for the ages. One that he’ll tell until the day he dies.
Of course, Christmas magic is unexplained. Do angels exist? Maybe. I hear the creaking sound of the door to the main office opening and three sets of humans walked out and stared wide eyed at who could have decorated the place. They looked at us, and they won’t give us credit. They believed that dogs were created only to serve their masters. Surely, they don’t understand the pinnacle of Canineism. One of which is to please their elders. But that’s differentiates us from humans. We see the world through different eyes. Different colors.
“Could this be the work of a Christmas angel?” A lady dressed up in a heavy coat, mittens, and snowboots and beanie hat, looking at the all the decorations, astonished from the apparent work of a Christmas angel. “We’ve truly have been blessed. We have be cooped up with so much work, I was afraid we wouldn’t have the time to decorate.”
The other humans nodded their heads saying, “Angels are watching over us, because this is the day a King was born!”
I smile. “Maybe the prospect of a Christmas angel doesn’t sound so bad. What do you think Shade?” I turn to face Shade, but he isn’t next to me, or Rex, or Thomas, or three felines. I suspect he’s by himself. Which is understandable. During the holidays, we are deserving of time by ourselves.
Shade was never found. Maybe there’s something magical about him. Wherever he is, he may be giving a wonderful Christmas to a needy family.
I hope he comes back.
When I write, I want to show potential. I don't have time for rudeness. And I apologize if my stories are a bit too long. And this is the first story I posted. I'm also working on one for Mizan, and maybe I could practice I could become published.
Merry Christmas.
I wrote this story completely by hand with the use of a medium nib Lamy Safari, a beginner level fountain pen. Please give me constructive criticism because this is my first time writing Stirfry. Who knows, maybe they'll be a sequel some day. Or when I feel like writing one about the other characters, giving them more depth. The pinnacle of fiction can only be achieved by accepting criticism well. It's how we learn. It's how to make stories better.
“A Stirfry Christmas”
By: Shadow Dalmatian
December. The twelfth month of the year. Light snow is falling, a calming breeze in the air. All around, broken down cars look as if they had a serious case of dandruff. And yes, I’m acutely aware that the year’s coming to an end. You don’t need to tell me that.
I hear Christmas music coming from a building in which humans seem to come and go. Don’t ask me what it looks like from the inside. . . I’ve never been indoors. Every time I got close to the entrance, I always hear, “No, Stirfry!”, or the ever popular, “Out, darn mongrel!”
And to think these people are dog lovers. The snow is only a light dust. If it picks up, I know they’ll let us in for warmth. But something must be valuable if they’re not letting us inside.
It appears I forgotten to introduce myself. The name’s Stirfry. I got the name because for some reason I get electrocuted on a regular basis. I’m surprised I’m still alive. I’m a mostly brown scruffy mutt with floppy ears, a white belly and fore legs and paws and brown hind legs and paws. And a darker shade of brown can never be missed upon my back. Green collar and I wear goggles because I find them fashionable. I’m plump, obviously, from the good food I get here. (Even though I’m not allowed to go into the office—except for emergencies—I can expect the owners to be vital in feeding me, even if I annoy them at times.) But don’t expect me to forage for food in the garbage. I’m better than that. I’m a dog. Not a rat.
However, as I look through the junkyard, accompanied by my companion Tom, a wrench that speaks his mind, I am dumbfounded by this place, and how it looks holiday deserted. I don’t know how Christmas is celebrated, but I know humans sometimes go overboard decorating the interior and exterior of their homes in various colorful—in which I call Gay—or the same— very original—bulbs. And darn it, I want this barren junkyard to have some Christmas spirit. One wreath is not enough. There should be bulbs strewn around the place; a neon sign that blinks “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays.” And a tree!
No, I’m not calling Sandy here. Decorating a tree with skeletons, skulls, and pumpkins and having black and purple tinsel, with matching purple bulbs, may work for Sandy, but it doesn’t set well for my taste.
I’m all everything made from scrap. It’s my expertise. Nevertheless, something must be done. Why only decorate one room but never anywhere else? Laziness? It’s preposterous.
Furthermore, there’s something about December that fills me with the utmost joy. I don’t mind the cheesy Christmas carols, and I find it hard to sing along. It’s as if there’s a hidden charm in those songs that makes people sing along. Nobody’s immune. I don’t know who has a problem with the holidays.
I venture deeper in the junkyard, passing cars that met their maker—rusted, with all four wheels gone—when I encounter them. The other canine patrons. The first, a burly Rottweiler, fit and in shape from working out, is seen laying his back against one of the cars. Interior, his fur’s chocolate brown that compliments his exterior black fur. His forepaws match his interior fur, while his hind paws correspond to his exterior. Ice blue eyes, that could cause others to swoon, is his secret weapon. He was the first person I’ve met, and he’s got a fitting name: Rex. Under his right eye is a scar, but good luck getting Rex to explain how he got it. All I know is that he nearly had his bad eye surgically removed.
Next to Rex is a canine with light to dark grey fur, white paws, ice blue eyes, and a curly tail. In case you’re zoning off, or don’t speak Dog, the second dog’s a Husky. A red and green checkered scarf wrapped around his neck. His name is Shade, and he’s very festive during Christmas, especially with his ample stomach. He could be Santa Paws! Along with Rex and Shade, a Golden Retriever laid next to them. He is an astronomy geek to which I can relate. I’ve my own interest in which others may eye me weirdly. Golden fur. Well-prepped. Green collar. Like the others, he too has a human sounding name: Thomas. As I eye at his emerald green eyes, he eyes back.
“Hello, Stirfry,” said the Golden Retriever, sullen. “I suspect that you’re having better days than us. What graces us your presence?” I can sense a sadness in his tone. One that I can’t seem to place my paw on. Still, he nudged the others. “Hey, look alive you two. Stirfry’s here.”
“Hey, Shade, I love the new scarf. It’s very fitting to you.” I gave a slight smile, hoping to pick off their heavy boulders from their backs, or do something that ends up shocking the four of us, plus Tom. However, Tom doesn’t like being electrocuted, but I don’t mind it. It happens to me so much that I’ve lost count. “You look festive.”
“What’s so great about it?” scoffed the Rottweiler. “It’s just another day in December. Thomas is upset because the weather’s not permitting us to see the Geminids tonight, Shade learned his best mate’s ghosted him all along, and me. . . I don’t want to talk about it.”
Shade snickered and said, “You stubbed your toe on a car bumper and swore like a sailor on the open seas.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t set a world record in swearing.” Thomas interjected.
Rex growled, eyeing both with icy eyes. “Shut up, you bozos! The last thing I want is to relive the past.”
“Hey, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Thomas shrugged, smirking at the Rottweiler. “Surely, she wouldn’t approve of your language.” He and Shade ruffled their paws on Rex’s body; I could tell he was on the verge of flying off the handle. It will be easy for me to make my muzzle move before Rex could do something he’ll regret later.
However, Tom had other plans and he slammed down hard upon the skulls of Shade, Thomas, and Rex. They appeared dazed, tongues out, rotating stars above their bruises. “TOM!” I yelped. “I’m so sorry, you three! I guess Tom spoke his opinion.” I icily glared at Tom. “Tom, apologize to the three.”
“Gah, my head hurts!” Rex said, feeling a bump on the top of his head, coming to himself. He glared at Tom. “Dude, that was totally uncalled for!”
“Mmmm. . . what day is it today?” Shade asked, dazed. “Monday? Wednesday? Are we in January yet?”
Thomas groaned and sat up, rubbing his head. He then eyed down and with wide-eyes, switched positions, laying on his stomach, and refused to move. There’s no need to explain what is happening to Thomas, but it seems to happen with him more often than not.
“Thomas? What’s going on?” I asked. “You sat up and then quickly laid back down in a heartbeat.”
“Oh, nothing. . . nothing’s going on! I’m completely fine!” Thomas said, his body still, his brain channel surfing through different thought bubbles as way to make him feel normal. “So, Junkyard. You came to ask us something?”
“Okay. . .” I nodded, collecting myself. I gaze the barren landscape. “Guys, do you think the junkyard will be decorated in time for Christmas?”
Rex shrugged. “Ordinarily, I don’t celebrate any holiday. What’s the point in decorating for a few weeks, only to take them down when the holidays are over?” Side note: Rex doesn’t understand religion—and what Christmas is about—and he doesn’t want to hear about it. “Do you see the office building there?” Thomas, Shade, Tom, and I eyed to the main office. “I was able to see through the window, and I saw an elongated plus symbol with a golden man planted on it. I have no idea what it was, so I marked my territory and moved on.”
Shade smiled and rubbed Rex’s head, his own throbbing diminishing. Rex allowed the head rub, leaning into the Husky. “Come on,” he replied. “Just think. Christmas is coming, which means there’s a chance for me to be under the mistletoe. If we get mistletoe.”
“Shade, how would you meet someone if you never make a move? You never make a move. It’s what differentiates you from me and Thomas.” Rex grinned in return. Shade’s ears folded back. “Look at us. How did we find girls? By leaving the junkyard and evading the doggy police.”
“Guys! No offense, but may we focus on decorating?” I asked, wanting to get back on topic. “We are in the Christmas season, and I want to make sure we have this junkyard ready.” Tom nudged me in the leg, and I brought him to my ears to hear what he has to say. “Good idea, Tom! Tom says that by decorating, your woes will be healed! Doing a job well done always makes me feel better.” I said. The snow started to feel uncomfortable on my fur, so I shook it off.
“I think our woes melted away when Tom bonked us hard on the noggin!” said Thomas, getting up on his paws. He eyed down and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, if we work now we could finish before the snow accumulates.”
Shade analyzed the snow-white junkyard and knew that something must be done. “Stirfry’s right. It’s our chance to be creative!” he wagged his curly tail. “And we can use whatever we can find here!”
“Of course! And I call dibs on the scrap metal!” We may not have access to expensive decorations, but bring me some scrap and I’ll get to work. Being in a junkyard, it’s hard not to find scrap.
“It shouldn’t be too hard to find scrap here,” said Thomas, eyeing the vehicles that already met its maker from the mechanism the Retriever calls ‘The Crusher.’ Simply put a car under it and activate, and it becomes a pancake in record time! We forage from the remains, trying to see what we can collect, when Thomas said, “I think we have everything right here.”
“A car bumper, parts of an engine, some headlights,” said Shade, picking up car parts with his forelegs. “Just think what we can make with these!” I don’t think he minds the snow. Of course, it isn’t because he’s a husky. That’d be stereotypical.
So, we have to get to work before the snow accumulates. Soon, Rex gets an idea. “Before my paws freeze, we should. . .” He pointed to the vehicles that weren’t destroyed by The Crusher. “We can decorate the cars.”
Shade nodded, smiling at the Rottweiler. He then eyed the collection so far: Scrap after scrap after scrap. “I’ll be honest, Stirfry. I’ve never worked with scrap metal before. I always leave the job to you.”
“You just allow your creativity blossom,” I said, ruffling the snow away by the use of my paws. “It’s quite easy working with scrap. If you’re not apprehensive in doing some welding.” Eyeing the cars, I imagine wreaths made of scrap on each and every one of the cars, covering them all with multi-colored holiday lights. I eye Rex, who scuffed the snowy ground with a paw. “Rex, you and Thomas should create some wreaths by using these,” I pawed toward the pile of scrap. “The welder should be around here somewhere. . .”
“And what if it’s in the building?” Rex replied. “It’s not as if one of us has the ability to shape-shift into a human. I’ll go get the welder.” He scurried off, and I’m hoping he doesn’t get chastised by the owners of this joint. However, we’re not the only animals here. There are felines as well, and no they don’t get special treatment. Which is surprising.
A moment later, Rex returns with the welder and a welding helmet. “Stirfry, I’ve been thinking. You’re the only one with expertise, so I deputize you to do the welding. Thomas, Shade, and I can do something that doesn’t cause us to burn ourselves.” he said. “The three of us could sneak away and find some tinsel and find unused decorations.”
The downside of the Christmas holidays is that I get so excited I forget that the boys have no experience with scrap. However, this is a perfect time to introduce them to it. “No, now more than ever you three need to learn how to work with scrap. It’s not that hard, and you’ll be glad that you’re helping the environment. All of these are recyclable.”
I get to work, weaving some scrap metal into a snowflake pattern, welding them into place so they won’t fall off. We had to share the welder at times, and I supervised the boys, and sometimes said, “THOMAS! NOT RIGHT THERE!” He almost welded his nether region. Which is important to watch what you’re doing. Still, the boys were hard at work attempting their metallic wreaths, made out the finest metallic source material, and had to be handled carefully, and they left me to do the heavy welding. It’s fun.
We’re so busy we don’t notice three figures watching us from afar. To them, we’re a bunch of nincompoops making a fool of ourselves.
Hours pass, and the first of the wreaths was completed. Thomas had his hind legs crossed together. I sighed. “Thomas, if you have to pee, go.” The Retriever scurried away to a secluded area as we place the wreath on the hood of a car.
“Thomas picked the perfect time to pee!” groaned Rex, making sure the wreath didn’t look askew. “Now, he’s off making yellow snow!”
As if on cue, Thomas rejoined to resume work on our Holiday job. More wreaths were constructed and placed on the hoods. Some looked askew, but I wagged my tail and happy that we’ve come this far. Christmas is not about hanging colorful lights and buying expensive gifts. It’s about spending time with friends and family, even if I don’t have any recollections of my family. I don’t know my parents, or if I have siblings. And I don’t know if they wonder the same.
“I’ve to say, I’m feeling better already!” Rex said, his undocked tail its own propeller. “I forgotten about my grand mishap in November. And no, I won’t tell you what it is, because it’s gross sounding, but still. . . decorating seems to take my mind off from it. And I know Thomas and Shade will say the same.” Rex wagging his tail is a rarity, but it does happen. He can claim he’s a macho Rottweiler, but all macho men are softies. He doesn’t want me to tell you this, but he sometimes sleeps with a bunny plushie. I find it cute, but he threatened that he’ll tear me limb from limb if I told a soul.
Now for a tree. Rex eyed around the white-blanketed junkyard, trying to find something he could use for a tree. He eyed to the wreaths. Decisions. There comes a time when one has to choose between one of the other. “The wreaths need to be colorful, vivid, with red and green blinking lights.” he said. “We can get lights, but the obstacle is electricity.”
“I’ve got this,” Shade interjected, his scarf blowing in the wind. Snow began accumulating, which showed on the top of his head. “Now, hurry! I feel that the snow will pick up soon!”
I wondered how Shade will get the lights, and electricity, considering that the only source of power is inside the office, and I don’t want to be scolded. Plus, I don’t think we have any extension cords, and if we did we probably won’t have enough for the wreaths we made. Shade has his ways, and with that comes my trust in him. In the meantime, Rex, Thomas, and I left to find more scrap to make a tree, and Tom and I carried the welder. There must be hundreds of scrap to make a small or a medium sized tree, but no bigger than us combined.
“What do you think Shade has planned?” I asked.
Silence. Rex and Thomas are in the zone, sights set on the scrap. Getting as much as their paws can carry. I shrug, knowing Shade is doing his own thing to spruce up decorations, so I helped any way I can. The snow’s really coming down. What are the chances of us becoming pupsicles before Christmas arrives?
I lose myself in thoughts. We might not have lights, but the snow may bump up the metallic wreaths. They should stick. Unless they completely bury them. “The snow’s coming down. We may have to wait it out.” Thomas said to me and Rex. “I might not be able to see tonight’s performance of the Geminids, but I’d take this. If we weren’t working, I would totally beat your butts in a snowball fight.” As he chuckled, he got the same tingly feeling down south and said, “Uh. . . guys. . . do you mind going off without me? I have to do some things in private!” He rushed off before Rex and I could speak.
“I’ll keep Thomas in my thoughts,” Rex said as I squint my eyes and see colorful lights coming our way.
“What on earth?” I said. “Who goes there? Show yourself!”
Three felines. Remember, I told you earlier that felines regularly visit the junkyard. One’s an orange tabby, well built; the other two a Calico and Persian. The Calico was a tad heavy, and the Persian seemed to be in a contest to see if she outchubs the Calico. Scarves were wrapped around their necks. Each was helping the other carry battery-powered Christmas tree. That solves our tree problem. And I know what you’re thinking. Stirfry, Rex, you’re Canines, and the critters you’ve encountered are felines. Surely, you must be rivals.
Enough with the stereotypes. That isn’t the ordeal. It’s perfectly okay for canines and felines to coexist as equals. “Stirfry,” the Tabby cat, Tanya, said, “always getting in some kind of predicament. This day must be different. You haven’t been electrocuted yet, have you?”
“Not yet. And Tanya. . . always looking out for me.” I smirk. Tom was on high alert, waiting to strike. I made sure that Tom didn’t move an inch.
“The gals and I found this over yonder. Graciously, the tree still works. It’s battery powered, and I assumed someone placed new batteries in and forgot to turn on this thing.” Tanya showed us the tree, her tail flicking, eyes filled with wonder. Oh how she and the other cats wanted to pounce on the tree, but they kept their cool. “This just gives me whole lotta Christmas vibes. So what did you make?”
“Christmassy wreaths made entirely out of scrap.” I said, my tail imitating a turbine engine, or a fan.
“A Christmas tree: the centerpiece of holiday decorating.” Rex said, but his ears perked up. A faint holler. “Do you hear that?” The two other felines, Celia and Petra, eyed the Rottweiler. Celia, with her hazel eyes, showed curiosity, while Petra’s showed she was amused.
“Hear what?” Petra asked.
The wind soon picked up, the snowfall accumulating fast, obscuring our vision. Just what we needed. All of us falling victim to giant ice being dandruff flakes. Not to mention the cold. “Come on, we have to get back to safety.” Tanya said. The six of us, counting Tom, braved the snow. As long as we think about warmth, we should not be made into self-made popsicles in this storm. Boy are my paws starting to freeze, and as I tried looking at Rex and the three felines, I can expect them to feel the same. I hear the faint screams of a familiar voice. I think about Thomas, and his condition. Would snow and the cold make it worse. “Hear that voice. It has to be Shade.” I said to Petra.
What could be made to be blinking Christmas lights were strewn all over the metallic lights. As well as every other car and nook and crannies at the junkyard. The entire junkyard decorated for Christmas, a huge tree made from scrap placed right there in the middle, decorated in color and hope, and I hope the snow doesn’t destroy Shade’s creation. How long were we gone, and how fast Shade worked on this? What I could decipher is weeks of hard work done in a few short minutes. There must be one explanation. Christmas magic. An angel must be on our midst. Rex eyed towards Shade, and the snow seemed to play tricks on his eyes. He claimed he saw what appeared to be angel wings upon Shade’s back.
Shade smirked to the group, eyes narrowed, trying to see his friends. “See? I have my ways!”
“Woah, Shade!” Tanya exclaimed. “Maybe we should hire you full time to be our holiday decorator, or something like that.”
“I say. . . I’ve to think about that.” Shade replied. “But I like doing this for free, so I can look at the people’s faces when they say see hard I worked, making sure I did everything right.” The snow and cold ravaged through, but as long as we stick together, we’ll keep each other warm. Nobody’s about to die here. Not on Christmas Eve. “If I had to charge fellas, I would say. . . one bag of kibble?”
I agree with Shade wholeheartedly. “Come on, guys! We are filled with holiday spirit! Now’s this junkyard is so well decorated, people will become jealous!” Tom whacked at the snow, angry at how it decided to be a dummy, but snow on Christmas is both a blessing and a curse. Furthermore, something in me made me feel giddy.
“This here will be the one of the greatest Christmases we ever had,” Thomas said, walking up to us, his problem under control (for now.) He now has the opportunity to sing and have fun with his friends, and that is exactly what Christmas is supposed to be about here. His problem is permanent, but with friends by his side, they can help him get through it.
Hours pass, and the snow is starting to settle; everything didn’t rust, which is grand. We dusted off the car hoods, trying our best not to get cut with the metal; we took our time. By the time we were done, the three felines kept close together, enjoying the warmth that Celia and Petra gave; Rex and Thomas snuggled each other, the Retriever sighing lovingly, laying against the Rottweiler’s chest, his tail thumping against the snowy ground. As for me, I eye to the sky, wondering if we did enough. The junkyard doesn’t look barren, so why do I feel like I’ve didn’t do enough? Well, I helped with the torch; I scolded Thomas when he almost welded his privates; so if it wasn’t for me, Thomas would’ve had a one-way trip to the vet, along with a story for the ages. One that he’ll tell until the day he dies.
Of course, Christmas magic is unexplained. Do angels exist? Maybe. I hear the creaking sound of the door to the main office opening and three sets of humans walked out and stared wide eyed at who could have decorated the place. They looked at us, and they won’t give us credit. They believed that dogs were created only to serve their masters. Surely, they don’t understand the pinnacle of Canineism. One of which is to please their elders. But that’s differentiates us from humans. We see the world through different eyes. Different colors.
“Could this be the work of a Christmas angel?” A lady dressed up in a heavy coat, mittens, and snowboots and beanie hat, looking at the all the decorations, astonished from the apparent work of a Christmas angel. “We’ve truly have been blessed. We have be cooped up with so much work, I was afraid we wouldn’t have the time to decorate.”
The other humans nodded their heads saying, “Angels are watching over us, because this is the day a King was born!”
I smile. “Maybe the prospect of a Christmas angel doesn’t sound so bad. What do you think Shade?” I turn to face Shade, but he isn’t next to me, or Rex, or Thomas, or three felines. I suspect he’s by himself. Which is understandable. During the holidays, we are deserving of time by ourselves.
Shade was never found. Maybe there’s something magical about him. Wherever he is, he may be giving a wonderful Christmas to a needy family.
I hope he comes back.
When I write, I want to show potential. I don't have time for rudeness. And I apologize if my stories are a bit too long. And this is the first story I posted. I'm also working on one for Mizan, and maybe I could practice I could become published.
Merry Christmas.