"Hmm, I wonder who this is." The voice at the other end was easily recognizable, and I moaned. Not again. Graham. After graduating from medical school in Alberta, it was quite surprising that all of my old friends were still in touch with me, and some had become all the more close over the years. On my wall was taped a large poster-map of Australia, replacing the one I had previously of Legolas, as I was to be going on an internship exchange program in a few weeks. Graham had asked if he could stow away in my suitcase. I didn�t think it was an appropriate place for him to be staying for about eight months.
Switching the call to speaker phone, I set down the receiver and set about seeing to the dent in my refrigerator door. "You must be big, black, furry and drool all over the place!" I glared down at my large dog, lying on his back and basking in the lamplight.
"Oh give it a break, Graham." I muttered, and hoped that it would pick up, "Elf does not drool all over everything. You are the only one who does."
"How did you know it was me?" He sounded slightly hurt, and I rolled my eyes, although he couldn�t see, "How are you?"
"I�m out at the cottage, in the middle of winter, and I need a break." I growled, "Roads are kind of bad, so I couldn�t come in during the day and the clinic half freaked out on me."
"I have something here for you," He made sounds as though rummaging through papers, "That�s one good thing about saying here in Brandon. You still get messages from old friends and such. Ah," Graham sounded triumphant, "I have this postcard. From Australia."
"Really." I was not really interested, but grabbed a large pizza from the freezer, hoping to have something not-burnt for dinner, and glad that speakerphone allowed my friends to almost constantly be with me, "So?"
"It�s a request." He seemed to sound confused, "To look for a surf buddy." Graham faltered, "You never told me that you had a surf buddy."
"I don�t surf, Graham." I answered crisply, "I thought you knew that."
"Well, it�s a postcard from Zoe. She�s teaching over there, and wants to know when you�ll be arriving at the airport so she could pick you up. And she�s concerned about the dog." Graham was struggling a little with Zoe�s writing, "I think that�s what it is. Or either that or she�s concerned about the frog."
"Dog." I bent down and patted Elf on the head, "Aren�t you the prettiest thing ever?"
"Of course I am!" Graham replied, quite delighted, "Well, I have this postcard and was wondering if you could pick it up tomorrow. I�ll have it UPS delivered over to the hospital or something." Although there was virtually no tax out at the cottage, there was virtually no services either.
"I suppose so." I stuffed the pizza into the oven and Elf looked at it, pink tongue falling out of his mouth, "Thanks."
"I would much rather I keep it, and you can come pick it up." He sounded a little hopeful, "You know, stop over in Winnipeg and we could have lunch or something."
"Just UPS it." I replied, perhaps a little too quickly, "I�ll see you soon enough." Graham grunted. "You have any idea how to sedate a large dog for a trip to Australia?" I stared at Elf who was beating his tail furiously over the wooden floor, "I don�t think he is exactly carry-on luggage."
"Mmm." Graham muttered, "If you lived next door I�d look after him."
"You don�t." Regretfully, I almost added.
"I�ll send the postcard." He answered, "Oh, and have you heard from Elsie lately?"
"I�m twenty-five, Graham." I growled, "That would mean she is too. She is over eighteen. I don�t know where she is. I would be at my coming of age, if I were an elf." My dog�s ears pricked up.
"Well, yes, I suppose." Graham hesitated, "Well, Happy Christmas." And with a small click, I was left alone to the howling winds again, swirling outside my cottage and Elf resumed his tail thumping.
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"You brought him." The years had little changed my friend (except, of course, for that Australian accent) who arrived at the Australian airport where I was attracting strange looks from my Canadian flags stamped all over my luggage, the heavy sweater I was wearing, or the black, large German Shepherd I was wheeling through the terminal in the largest dog transporter I could afford. Zoe grinned, a little warily, and studied the dark brown but playful eyes of Elf, "What does he eat? Rabbits?"
"Um, dry dog kibble." She took my trolley and kept a wary eye on the dog, "So, Australia! Breathe in the fine, warm air and . . . oh!" Zoe quickly stopped and fished out a long black stick of something, "Australian licorice! You have to try some!"
"I already have." I broke the stick in half and fed a piece to Elf who nearly inhaled it, hungry after such a long plane trip. Zoe grinned, "I have about two weeks before I begin at that private hospital in Perth." I paused, "Any particular reason why you chose to locate there?"
"No. Not exactly." She seemed to be hiding something as we found her mode of transportation in the parking lot, a cute little beige Volvo, "Well, I suppose I�ll take you home." Most of my luggage went easily enough in the back, and the cage was collapsible.
"One second." I pointed to the dog-walk area, "I think a visit there is necessary." Elf nodded as though in agreement. Fitting a hand embroidered leash to the matching collar of Mallorn leaves about his neck and kissing his large ears, I dug around for a pooper-scooper, and Zoe smiled sympathetically.
"You know," She slammed the trunk closed and walked with me as Elf paused to sniff every little new thing he could find (lamp posts must smell different in Australia), "Does he bite?"
"Not that I know of." Elf sniffed my friend�s hand and licked at her runners, "Graham thinks he drools all over everything though."
"I�ve noticed." Zoe returned dryly, and we remained silent as Elf tramped around the small patch of green, sniffling another tourist�s dog (the man pulled his little poodle away angrily). "You received my postcard. What do you think?"
"Looking for surf buddies?" I protested, "What surf buddies?"
"Not just any surf buddies." She lowered her voice, "OUR surf buddies."
"Oh." I frowned, "We have surf buddies."
"Of course." Zoe glared at me, "Didn�t you know?"
"Not quite." Elf barked happily and was waving his tail as though shooing away the biggest herd of flies that had ever existed, and the dog pulled at my hand. I frowned. He never did that. "Elf?"
"Maybe he�s found our surf buddies." Zoe replied, voice hushed, and I slapped the leash into her hand while I tied up the little white pooper-scooper bag, "Wouldn�t that be neat?"
"Right." The garbage can was oddly full of similar little white bags, "Well, then, if Elf has finished, let us go . . ."
"Ah, my place, and then a cute little bistro for lunch. I know just the place." Zoe was a little eager to hand me back my dog, "We could take him."
"Elf." I corrected, and my dog looked back at me, "Well trained."
"I see." The journey back to the Volvo was quick and Zoe smiled, "Well at least I won�t have to ride with Hitler on the way back!" As she pulled out of the parking lot, I calmly noted that there was a box of menthol kleenex in the car. Always works. "I�ve been riding with him for a long time."
"Sit." Elf obediently lay down in the back seat, having to be almost bent for not fitting in the car, lying his head between his paws, "Good. Pretty." The dog almost grinned.
"You call you dog pretty?" Zoe drove smoothly down the ramp and onto the highway, "Pretty?"
"Of course," I grinned, "All elves are pretty."
"But that�s a dog!" She protested.
"No," I corrected, "It�s Elf."
"Mmm." Zoe rolled her eyes, and I looked about her car to see a large picture tacked to her sun visor.
"Hey, Heath!" I laughed, "Does he have any new movies we could go see?"
"My surf buddy." Zoe replied briskly, "Quite the guy."
"Then I would suppose Elf could be mind." I stared out at approaching Perth, "Right?"
"Legolas." She nodded, "Right."
"Elf." I corrected, and she rolled her eyes at me, "Alright, fine."