Stories Online; Short Story Assignment: Christmas Story About a Police Officer and a Sheltie

Officer Mack Olson jerked the steering wheel hard, barely avoiding a slide onto the graveled shoulder. The icy December air whistled in his ears, but he couldn't do anything about it. "Attending my own funeral isn't my idea of a good Christmas," he muttered, resisting the urge to take one hand off the wheel to roll up the window. "It's a shame this joker blew the red light before I had a chance to grab my double-bacon-cheeseburger from the kid at the drive-up window."

The stolen Dodge Intrepid in front of him careened onto Bangerter Highway, narrowly missing a semi-truck in the right lane. "Idiot!" Mack accelerated and tried to catch up, his foot pushing hard on the gas as the Intrepid swung in front of an SUV. Then a hand flashed out the window of the stolen car.

Mack gritted his teeth. "All right, flipping me off is gonna get you in more trouble than you've ever been in before. You're gonna regret-"

The rest of the sentence dangled in the air as movement in the rear-view mirror grabbed Mack's attention. A backup unit screamed past and slid in front of the Intrepid. Mack inched his cruiser forward until he was even with the stolen car, and the driver turned his head in slow motion to look at Mack. A spiteful grin spread over his face and he wiggled his middle finger at Mack again. Then he leaned toward the passenger's door of his vehicle.

Mack frowned and his voice rose. "No! Don't tell me you've got someone in that car with you!" He grabbed the radio to call for an ambulance but before he could even click the mic, a small shape flew out the Intrepid's passenger side, bounced on the shoulder and rolled down the gully.

Mack hit the brakes, controlling the skid. Don't let that be a kid that went out the door.Let it be a backpack or the guy's stash-something we can hang him with-but don't let it be a kid.

As his cruiser slowed, Mack finished the call for medical assistance and with gravel flailing beneath the tires, pulled the car onto the shoulder and slammed it into park. Flinging the seat belt off, he threw open the door and bailed out at a dead run. Pebbles crunched as he half-ran, half-fell down the embankment, his flashlight casting eerie circles in the dry, prickly weeds.

Don't let it be a kid. Don't let it be a kid. His mind sang the refrain as his eyes searched.

"Hello," Mack called. "Where are you? Are you hurt?" The only sound came from the traffic above and the wind's eerie voice, echoing through the gully.

Then, softly, a whimper. Not a human cry but more like ...

"A dog," Mack said, temper flaring. "He threw a dog out the door, that son of a-"

Before he had a chance to finish expressing his thoughts about a man who would commit such an atrocity, his flashlight caught a flicker of sable and white. A dog resembling a miniature Lassie looked up from twenty feet away, blood dripping down her face.

"A Sheltie," Mack whispered. "Hold still girl; I'm coming." He slowly worked his way to the dog. She tried to rise, got onto three legs and toppled over.

Mack's heart felt ripped apart from the inside. His own Sheltie, Jake-the dog he'd owned all his adult life and that his two toddler sons had loved to near extinction-had been put down two days ago because of a stroke.

Tears misted and he brushed them away, hard. "Cheese-o-flip, now I've poked myself in the eye," he muttered, wiping the tears once more. The Sheltie whimpered again-this time the tone turning into a soft howl at the end.

He knelt by the dog, pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, slowly reached over and dabbed the blood on the small dog's head. She flinched at his touch, blinked, then gazed steadfastly at Mack. Her tootsie-roll-brown eyes reflected pain, but she didn't try to bite.

Above them, red lights blinked in a circle as the ambulance pulled up. Two EMTs ran down the embankment, emergency equipment in hand, but they stopped short when they saw the dog.

"The guy pushed his dog out the door," Mack said. "Can you help her?" He wrestled with his emotions, trying hard to keep the pleading out of his voice.

Moving closer, the tall, blond medic looked at his shorter companion. "We're not vets so our knowledge is limited. And we'd risk a lawsuit from the owner if we provide help and the dog dies."

Mack knew all about frivolous lawsuits and he gave a snort of derision. "The guy who did this couldn't care if she dies." As he spoke, the Sheltie's eyes closed.

"She's in shock," the blond EMT said, watching the dog's chest rise and fall rapidly. Then he stepped toward her, and nodded at Mack. "You don't see anything; I never touched this dog." The EMT knelt next to her, gently running his hands over her body as the other medic picked up Mack's flashlight from the ground and held it high. A small, yellow puddle of light fell on the Sheltie. Mack cradled her head in his lap, controlling the bleeding above the eye, whispering courage. Her tan, button ears flicked at his soothing words.

When the EMT got to the dog's right front leg, he worked more cautiously. "It doesn't feel like anything's broken, but she's probably got massive bruising and possible internal injuries. The pad of her foot's torn and bleeding-it looks like the toenails ripped off when she hit the ground." The Sheltie winced as he worked his fingers around her white stocking foot, her breathing becoming more rapid.

"If we don't get an IV going and warm her, the shock's going to kill her," he pronounced, laying her foot gently on her other leg. Opening his kit, he pulled out sterile gauze, antiseptic, and antibiotic cream. He cleaned the paw, quickly wrapped it and watched as the other EMT brought down a backboard.

They carried her to the ambulance and loaded her in. Mack handed them his card and said, "Call me and give me the vet's name."

The rest of the midnight shift crept by as Mack worried about the dog. The call never came. And there was other bad news; the suspect had evaded arrest.

The next morning-after Mack had been asleep just long enough to dream he was chasing the Intrepid again-the phone rang. He fumbled with it, his fogged mind trying to remember how to answer. Finally, on the third try, he hit the talk button.

"Hello?" he said, blinking at the clock on the dresser and wondering about the time. The digital numbers showed 9:34-but was it morning or night?

A female voice filled with no-nonsense authority said, "This is Dr. Yankston's office. Your dog is ready for release."

Jake was alive? He could come home? Joy surged through Mack and his mind snapped awake-then logic took over and he knew he'd misunderstood. His breath caught as pain seared his heart, feeling as if a splintered arrow had shot through it. Jake was dead. He wasn't coming home. He was buried in the back yard.

"I'm sorry; I've misunderstood," Mack said into the phone. "What did you say?"

Ice filled the woman's voice. "Your dog is ready for release."

Mack grabbed the pillow and slapped it over his eyes, damming the tears. "I don't have a dog at your office," he said in a strangled voice.

Ice-Woman cleared her throat impatiently. "Are you Officer Mack Olson?"

"Yes."

"The EMTs gave us your number and said to call you about the dog."

Mack flung the pillow and leaped out of bed. "Oh, that dog. Was she badly injured?

Ice-Woman paused. Mack envisioned black eyes narrowing with suspicion as she said, "The dog's badly bruised, has a cut over one eye and an injured paw. Are you an Animal Control Officer? If not, I can't release her to you."

Cop attitude flooded his veins and Mack jabbed a finger in the air, as if poking Ice-Woman in the shoulder. "That dog is a victim of a crime. I was the officer on the scene and have jurisdiction in this matter. The law requires that the dog be taken into my custody."

"My custody" was stretching the truth-but surely the dog would heal faster at his home than at the pound. "I'll be down to pick her up in fifteen minutes." Mack stuffed one leg into his jeans while he hung up the phone.

The cacophony of barks and meows at the vet's office usually bothered him-he felt bad for the confused pets locked in cages-but this time he hardly noticed. When they brought the Sheltie out and she saw him, her ears perked up and her tail wagged.

Mack could steel his heart against crooks and murders, con artists and thieves-but he could never manage it with kids and animals. Don't even think about falling in love with that dog, he chastised himself. But, his heart fell anyway. As he scooped the Sheltie up, her tan, pointed muzzle pressed against his neck and a soft pink tongue slipped him a quick kiss on his cheek. "Hi girl," he said, giving her a gentle hug.

Movement caught his eye and Mack looked over to see a woman sitting at a sterile looking desk and flipping a pen between her fingers. "That's got to be Ice-Woman, and she thinks we're just a fly speck on the wall," he whispered into the Sheltie's ear. Aloud he said to the woman, "Send the bill to the Salt Lake County Sheriff's Department." He turned toward the door, but then, at the last minute turned back. "By any chance, did this dog have a collar?"

Ice-Woman focused on him for a second, as if it caused her pain to notice his existence, then pulled a multi-colored band off a nearby shelf and disdainfully handed it to him. Mack looked at it and a thought flashed through his mind.

Dangling the collar in front of the receptionist, and ignoring her stare as it deepened to glacial proportions, Mack said, "The rabies tag shows this dog was given its shots here. Please check it against your records and write down the owner's name and address for me."

With lips pulled taut and body moving in wind-down mode, she took the collar and entered the numbers from the tag into the computer, then wrote the information on scrap paper and handed it to Mack. He looked at it, kissed the Sheltie on the head and said, "We've nailed the sucker!"

Stepping out the door, Mack whispered sweet nothings to the dog. Snow fluttered around them and the bell of a Salvation Army Santa jingled in the distance.

"It's Christmas," Mack said. "I'll be capturing a car thief and filing several charges, including cruelty to animals. You're never going back to that guy who threw you out of the car."

As the scent of pine burning in a fireplace drifted past them, the Sheltie sniffed the air with interest. Mack stroked her soft ears and continued, "Maybe I'm a little blue because I don't have Jake, anymore-" he stopped, took a deep breath to compose himself and watched a snowflake drift down onto the dog's beautiful pointed muzzle. "But, now I have you."

The Sheltie gazed at him with her brown eyes, laid her head on his shoulder, and sighed.

(Although this story is fiction, it's based on a true event as reported on Salt Lake Valley, UT news stations in 2007, in which the suspect of a fast chase threw a dog out of the car. The dog's collar had tags that led officers to the man and he was apprehended. The dog had minor injuries and lived with one of the officers during the Christmas season.)