Piper’s Little December Hello

Piper counted the squares on the calendar again. Christmas still seemed to be hiding a long way down the page.

“Is it almost here?” she asked her dad.

He smiled. “It’s getting closer. Christmas Day is December twenty-fifth.”

Piper looked at all the squares between today and then. “That’s a lot of mornings.”

Outside, the December afternoon was quiet. Piper pulled on her coat and stepped onto the front steps. Her neighbor, Mr. Duffy, was walking his friendly dog, Waffles, along the sidewalk. Waffles had soft brown ears and a tail that wagged as if it knew a happy secret.

“Hello, Waffles!” called Piper.

Waffles paused and perked up his ears. His tail swished against Mr. Duffy’s leg.

“Would you like to say hello again tomorrow?” Piper asked him. Waffles gave one cheerful bark.

The next afternoon, Piper hurried to the front steps. Mr. Duffy and Waffles came along the sidewalk at just the right time.

“Hello, Waffles!” Piper called.

Waffles perked up again. Piper waved, and Mr. Duffy waved back.

That evening, Piper drew a little mark in the square for the day. Then she put a small star sticker beside it.

“I’ll say hello to Waffles every day,” she told her dad. “Then Christmas won’t feel so far away.”

And so the next afternoon, Piper watched from the steps. Waffles came by, his ears bouncing as he walked.

“Hello, Waffles!”

His tail wagged. Piper waved. That evening, she marked another square.

Soon the little ritual felt like a bright bead on a long string of December days. Piper still wished Christmas would hurry, but now she had something to look forward to each afternoon: the sound of footsteps, a wagging tail, and Waffles’s happy hello.

Day after day, Piper waited on the front steps. Sometimes the sky was pale blue. Sometimes clouds hung low over the quiet street. Each afternoon, Mr. Duffy and Waffles came by, and Waffles always perked up when he saw Piper.

Then one day, rain tapped on the windows before lunchtime. By afternoon, it pattered steadily on the sidewalk and made little rivers along the curb.

Piper stood inside the front door, looking out. “We can’t take our walk in this,” she said. “And Waffles won’t come by.”

Her dad glanced at the covered porch. “We can stay dry there.”

“But the sidewalk is all shiny and gray,” Piper said. She wanted their usual walk, with the bare trees, the mailbox, and the place where Waffles liked to sniff. The rain made the whole afternoon feel different—and Christmas still seemed a long way off.

Piper went to the calendar and held her pencil above the day’s square. She didn’t mark it yet. “If we miss our hello, the day will feel empty.”

A soft patter answered from the porch roof. Piper looked out again. Then she noticed something moving on the sidewalk: Mr. Duffy’s umbrella, bobbing along. Beside him, Waffles trotted in his little raincoat.

As they reached Piper’s house, Waffles looked up. His ears lifted. His tail began to wag.

Piper’s face brightened. She opened the front door and stepped onto the covered porch. The rain stayed beyond the edge of the roof, pattering on the steps below.

“Hello, Waffles!” she called.

Waffles leaned toward her, tail swishing. Mr. Duffy smiled and gave a wave.

Piper waved back. She didn’t need the sunny sidewalk or the usual sniffing spot. Waffles was right there, happy to see her, and the porch kept her dry.

“Tomorrow, we can walk again if the rain lets us,” she said. “But we can always say hello here.”

Waffles gave a friendly little bark. Piper went inside, picked up her pencil, and marked the square. The day didn’t feel empty after all.

The rain visited for two more afternoons. Each day, Piper opened the front door and stepped under the covered porch. Mr. Duffy and Waffles came along the sidewalk, their umbrella and raincoat shining with drops.

“Hello, Waffles!” Piper called.

Waffles perked up, and his tail wagged. Piper waved from the dry porch. Sometimes she told him about the lights she had seen in a neighbor’s window. Sometimes she simply smiled and watched him trot on.

Each evening, Piper marked another square on the calendar. The pencil marks made a tidy trail toward the twenty-fifth. The days were still days, but they no longer felt like blank spaces she had to hurry through. Each one held a little hello.

When the rain finally passed, the sidewalk glimmered beneath the cloudy sky. Piper met Waffles at the front steps again. He sniffed the edge of a puddle, then looked up at her.

“Hello, Waffles,” Piper said.

Waffles wagged. Piper laughed softly. The walk was short, but she didn’t mind. They had found a way to greet each other in every kind of weather.

The next days slipped by in small, pleasant pieces. A wave from the porch. Waffles’s ears lifting. A mark on the calendar at evening. From the kitchen, Piper could hear her dad humming while he put a few things in place for Christmas. From the sidewalk came the familiar patter of Waffles’s paws.

At last, only one square remained before Christmas Day. On that evening, Piper stood beneath the porch roof as the sky turned dusky blue. Mr. Duffy and Waffles came by for their usual visit.

“Hello, Waffles,” Piper whispered, giving him one more wave.

Waffles’s tail swished, and Piper felt warm inside, even in the cool December air. She went in with her dad, glanced at the nearly full calendar, and set her pencil beside it. Tomorrow was Christmas, and she was ready to welcome it.