Category: Uncategorized

By: GDUI Member Anthony Corona
Posted with permission. Visit Anthony on Substack: https://theanthonycorona.substack.com/

Every year when the air shifts and the world starts to smell like pine, cinnamon, and something warm and hopeful, the kennel changes.

That is how Scrappy first noticed it.

Scrappy was new. All paws and curiosity. Ears too big for his head, heart even bigger. He had only just arrived at the training kennel, still figuring out what his paws were for and why everyone kept saying words like focus and harness and someday.

And then there were the decorations.

Red balls. Green balls. Shiny silver ones that reflected his own nose back at him. Twinkling lights that begged to be chased. Scrappy could not understand why he was not allowed to play with them. After all, balls were balls. That was simple dog logic.

It was Ginger who stopped him.

Ginger was old. Not old in the sad way. Old in the wise way. The kind of old that settles into your bones and teaches you patience. Ginger had once been a guide dog too. Years of steady sidewalks, busy intersections, quiet companionship, and fierce devotion. Now retired, Ginger lived at the kennel as a calm presence. A mentor. A quiet guardian of the new trainees.

Scrappy plopped down beside her, tail thumping.

“Why are the balls forbidden?” Scrappy asked in his puppy way, which was really more of a look and a tilt of the head.

Ginger chuckled, which sounded like a slow wag and a soft huff.

“Those are not just balls,” she said. “Those are reminders.”

Scrappy did not understand, but he listened anyway. Ginger had that effect.

“And who,” Scrappy asked next, pointing his nose toward a large red figure with white trim and a laugh that echoed through the kennel, “is that big jolly human with all the white fur?”

Ginger smiled.

“Ah,” she said. “That is Santa.”

Scrappy’s ears perked up.

“He does not smell like a trainer,” Scrappy observed. “And he laughs too much.”

“That is because Santa is not what you think he is,” Ginger replied. “Come closer. This is a story worth hearing.”

Ginger settled in, and Scrappy curled beside her.

“You see,” Ginger began, “when humans are very young, they need stories they can see and touch. So they are told about a man in a red suit who brings gifts. But that is only the beginning of the truth.”

Scrappy blinked.

“The real Santa,” Ginger continued, “is not a person. Santa is an idea. Santa is what happens when someone gives without expecting a thank you. Santa is the quiet hand that steadies someone who is afraid. Santa is the unseen kindness that makes the world softer.”

Scrappy thought about this.

“Like guiding,” he said slowly.

Ginger’s tail wagged.

“Exactly like guiding,” she said. “When I stopped at a curb so my partner would be safe, I was Santa. When I stayed awake all night because they were sick and scared, I was Santa. I did not need praise. I needed only to help.”

She paused, then leaned closer.

“One day,” Ginger said, “you will lick your handler’s tears when the world feels too heavy. One day you will press your whole furry body against them all night while they fight a cold or a fever, just to remind them they are not alone. One day you will simply know they are sad, and you will bring them a toy, or rest your head on their knee, or curl into their lap without being asked. That is Santa too.”

Scrappy’s chest felt warm.

“And sometimes,” Ginger went on, “the magic is just in being there. A steady presence. A warm body to stroke when anxiety rattles through the night. A heartbeat that says everything will be all right, even when words cannot.”

Scrappy’s tail wagged slowly now, thoughtfully.

“And if you are lucky,” Ginger added with a soft smile, “you will meet children along the way. Children who will see you and light up instantly. They will want to pet you, talk to you, laugh with you. For those moments, Scrappy, you will be Santa to them as well.”

Scrappy lifted his head.

“So why do the puppies have to be careful?” Scrappy asked. “Why can’t we tell everyone?” Ginger’s voice softened.

“Because knowing the truth comes with responsibility,” she said. “Once you know what Santa really is, you cannot unknow it. And you must protect the magic for those who still need the story. You must help choose the gifts. You must look for chances to be kind. You must never take the magic away too soon.”

Scrappy rested his head on Ginger’s paw.

“And,” Ginger said with a gentle laugh, “you will see many kinds of holidays. Some homes will glow with Christmas trees. Some will light candles for Hanukkah. Some will celebrate Kwanzaa with stories, music, and togetherness. You will hear many songs, smell many kitchens, and learn many traditions. And no matter what you do,” she added, amused, “do not chase the dreidel when it spins.”

Scrappy snorted, clearly unconvinced, but he nodded.

“One day,” Ginger continued, “you will leave this kennel. You will find your person. You will become a team. And every day you guide them through the world, you will be Santa Claus. Quietly. Faithfully. Without needing applause.”

Scrappy closed his eyes.

For a moment, he could almost see it. A harness. A sidewalk. A life shared. A purpose.

And somewhere in the background, a laugh. A red suit. A story that would live on.

That is the magic of Santa Claus.

It is not about believing in him forever.

It is about becoming him.

It is about recognizing that each of us, in our own small and ordinary ways, carries the power to be someone else’s miracle. A secret Santa. A quiet kindness. A steady presence in the dark. Especially during the holidays, when the world aches and hopes at the same time, the greatest magic is the love we give without expecting anything in return.

This Christmas, help each other. Be kind. And remember, the greatest gifts are the ones given without expectation.

🎄🎅🐾