"What is that noise? It sounds like whimpering." It wasn't the cats; they were all snoozing, draped over various pieces of furniture like molded fur wraps. I hit the mute button on the TV. There it was again, only louder The sad whine sounded like a dog, but dogs weren't allowed in my apartment building.

"Oh, don't tell me some idiot has purchased a puppy the week before Christmas," I groaned. "They'll only have to rehome it as soon as it's discovered. Some people just don't think."

I followed the sound to my front door and sneaked a look through the spyhole. Nothing in sight, but the scratching was definitely coming from the hallway. I opened the door just a tad. There he sat, on my welcome mat, wagging his tail and holding a paw up in greeting.

"Well, hello. How'd you get in here?"

He did a little twisty body dance that only a dog can do and tried to dive past me into my apartment. My common sense snapped in and I remembered my poor cats snoozing in the other room.

"Wait there, I'll be right back," I said, closing the door.

My mind was working overtime as I scooped up my disgruntled bunch of cats and dumped them unceremoniously in the spare bedroom. Their indignant meows echoed pitifully through the closed door. A leash, I need a leash! I raced up and down the hallway to the tune of cats meowing and the dog outside the door crying. What could I use? I spotted a pair of pantyhose hanging in the bathroom. They'd have to do!

"Come on in boy, let's have a good look at you." The dog trotted in like he owned the place, and before I could attach the pantyhose to his collar, he took up residence on my couch.

He wasn't very old and looked like a collie cross, maybe collie mixed with pointer or spaniel. His coat was beautiful; shiny black with four white socks and a white chest. The poor little guy was wearing two collars, one of which was so tight it was cutting deep into his neck. That had to come off right away. After minutes of dodging doggie kisses, I managed to cut through the offending collar. My new found friend had no tags and there was nothing written on either collar.

I fed him a bowl of cat food, (it was all I had) and we spent the rest of the evening walking icy streets, knocking on doors, trying to find his owner. Sadly, nobody knew him; he had appeared out of nowhere. An old man a few houses down gave me a worn leash. Grinning gratefully, I swapped it for the pantyhose. Trying to walk a dog on a stretchy pantyhose leash is not fun!

The next morning I did the only thing I could do; I turned him in to the police station. The howl he let rip when I left him in the kennel went right through me. It just about broke my heart. But I couldn't keep him, I had to go to work the next day. Driving home I somehow knew that this dog wasn't going to be claimed and I had to do something. But what?

The next day when I related the story to my workmates, one of them suggested that I report him to the Lost and Found Register and gave me a telephone number to call. I had a pleasant chat with the lady there and asked what would happen to him if nobody claimed him. The lady, Kit, said that from the Police Station he'd be taken to the Police Kennels where he would stay for seven days. If he wasn't claimed during that time, he'd be sent to the big animal sanctuary where they would try to find him a home. If that met with no success, he'd be put to sleep. Kit also did animal rescue, but she had no room for him. Christmas is a busy time.

One thing Kit did say, was that I, as the finder, could claim him after seven days. His seven days were up on Christmas Eve. Maybe I could persuade the kennels to keep him until after dinner on Christmas Day. Then I could pick him up and keep him until New Year's Eve. By that time Kit might have room for him. I called her back. She said there was a friend of hers that would probably be able to take him on New Year's Eve and to go ahead and telephone the Police Kennels and make the arrangements.

Christmas Day dawned cold and snowy and I didn't relish the thought of driving out into the countryside looking for the kennels, but I knew I had to go. After dinner at my parent's house I set off with a brand new leash beside me on the passenger seat.

The roads were slick, too slick for my liking, and the kennels hard to find, but eventually I pulled into the yard. A little old man opened the door. He wasn't very pleasant, but seemed to warm a little when I paid him for the extra day and for his time and trouble. Rupert, (as he was later named) went crazy when he saw me, leaping up and down and spinning around and around. It took me a full five minutes to get the leash attached to his collar. I drove home with him sitting beside me, laughing at his antics as he tried to bite the windshield wipers.

"Typical collie," I giggled.

We spent a very pleasant week walking the fields, the meadow and the neighborhood. Everybody we met loved Rupert and even my cats settled down with him, which surprised me. From the time I'd handed him in at the Police station, I'd been busy telephoning around trying to find him a home. Hearing Dogs for the Deaf said they might be able to take him, but he'd have to be assessed. They would assess him on January 2nd. She'd said, "And what do you think about calling him, Rupert? Beats a number doesn't it?" So Rupert it was.

New Year's Eve came around too quickly and it was with a heavy heart that I set out with him for the kennels. Rupert sat quietly in the passenger seat; I think he sensed something was wrong. He stayed in the car while I introduced myself to Kit's friend, Greta. Instead of asking me to bring the dog in, Greta, a very large and hard to understand German lady, handed me a piece of paper on which she had scribbled an address. From what I could make out from her poor English, the lady at that address might give him a home.

I pulled up outside number 26 in the trailer park. An elderly woman sat alone by the window, head down, the picture of loneliness. Leaving Rupert in the car once more, I walked up the path not knowing what to say. How could I ask this woman, who Greta claimed had just lost her old dog to cancer, if she could find it in her heart to take in Rupert and give him a good home?

I knocked on the door and explained that Greta had sent me. The woman, Nina, welcomed me into her home like a long lost friend. I didn't broach the subject at first, I just said that Greta had told me about her old dog. She needed to talk, so I listened quietly as the grief tumbled out of this poor Polish woman. She showed me pictures of her old dog and told stories, but I couldn't bring myself to ask her about Rupert. Eventually I plucked up enough courage to tell her the story of the dog that came to my door the week before Christmas. She laughed when I told her about the panty hose leash, then asked what had happened to him. She was openly as concerned for him as I had been. With a smile I explained that he was in the car and on his way to Greta's, but that he was hers if she wanted him.

Nina sprang out of her chair and looked through the large bay window at the front of her home.

"Oh! You must bring him in!" she cried.

"Come and meet him," I smiled.

I waited while she put on her coat and gloves and we went outside to the car. Rupert was doing his twisty body dance again, his tail beating the dashboard senseless. I let him out of the car.

"Oh my, he is a beauty, how could anybody not love him?" Nina exclaimed. She grabbed the leash as Rupert danced all around her with his puppy dog eyes.

"Can I really keep him?" Nina asked, obviously smitten. "I have food and bowls and everything."

"Rupert belongs to you now." I smiled, though there was a catch in my throat. "You go take him for a walk and I'll slip away so he doesn't see me leave."

Before I drove away, I knelt in the snow and whispered in Rupert's ear, "Be a good boy for Nina. Merry Christmas Rupert, sorry it's a little late."