Greg and Rudy (photo: Doug Clark)
Greg Kincaid is the author of A Dog Named Christmas. His next book, the prequel Christmas with Tucker, is now available at Amazon.com, BN.com, Borders.com, and all major retailers. You can also read Greg's previous blog posts for Petfinder and visit him at www.facebook.com/ authorgregkincaid. Over the last two weeks, Greg shared Christmas with Tucker's prologue and chapter 2, in which we meet a tethered dog and the family who takes him in when his neglectful owner is arrested. This week, their story continues. Enter here for a chance to win a signed copy of Christmas with Tucker. (Official Rules)
From Christmas with Tucker: Ch. 3
As I let the kitchen door slam behind me, it occurred to me that, like an elephant or a giraffe, a dog was foreign to the McCray farm. The adult words, spoken frequently by my father and by my grandfather, too, came rushing back to me. "Dairy cattle and dogs don't mix, George. Quit asking for a puppy."
For years I grumbled about it, as any kid would, but like hot days in February, I accepted that dogs were not part of the McCray landscape.
Now this no-name dog was sitting in the truck and I didn't know what to make of it. Part of me was excited, but there were other, unsettling feelings, too. At that point in my life, I needed the world to be arranged according to rules that I could count on, even when those rules were unpopular.
In my life, the one rule that children counted on most had been broken: Parents don't leave their children. That rule I considered inviolate. For me, there was an obvious corollary, too: A boy doesn't lose his dad in a tractor accident on a hot summer afternoon. My father, John Mangum McCray, was here one morning as he had always been, ate breakfast, went outside to work, and by that afternoon, was gone forever.
Now this dairy cattle and dogs don't mix rule was being broken, too. Deep down, I was sure that I would never be allowed to have a dog, and though I resented it, it was still one of the rules that I counted on to keep my crumbling universe in order. It was somehow frightening to see this rule broken. Which rule was going to be broken next? What had I done wrong to be the only kid in my school who had lost a parent? I felt as if I were being punished, but I didn't understand why. Somehow, my father's death spoke some dark truth about me. Surely, good kids didn't lose their dads -- only the unworthy and the undeserving are so fated. What had I done?
There was more swirling around in my mind, too. I put my hand on the stock gate release and hesitated before pulling the latch. Surprises had lost their appeal. I just didn't know what to do or how to feel about this most recent unplanned event. The latch release needed oil and it creaked as I opened the rear stock gate. I made a note to myself to squirt some oil on the hinge. Standing in the truck bed, hesitant but with his tail wagging, was a beauty of a dog. I had never seen Thorne's dog up close. Though he seemed thin and needed cleaning up, he had long red hair and looked to be an Irish setter. I opened the door fully and reassured him. "It's okay, boy. I won't hurt you. Come on, jump on down."
