A Tiny Bell and the Christmas Miracle
written by: James D. A. Terry
Snow fell in soft spirals over Bonnechance, dusting the rooftops like icing sugar and muffling the town’s usual creaks and clanks. Justin Case, Termination Agent for Tin Can Communications, sat in his top-floor apartment, sipping coffee and watching Notcho Dog nose a small brass bell across the floor.
It wasn’t theirs.
Notcho had found it that morning, tangled in the string of a tin can line near the old post office. It was delicate, engraved with a single word: Hope.
Justin turned it over in his hand. “Someone’s missing something.”
Notcho Dog gave a low whuff and padded to the door.
They followed the tin can line through Bonnechance’s winding lanes, past the bakery where Mrs. Bouchard was handing out gingerbread, and down to the edge of the woods. There, in the snow, were tiny paw prints—too small for a fox, too round for a raccoon.
A puppy.
Notcho sniffed the trail, tail stiff with purpose. They followed it to the old greenhouse behind the Bonnechance School, which had long since been abandoned. Inside, curled in a nest of burlap and pine needles, was a trembling golden pup with one floppy ear and a red ribbon collar—empty where a bell should’ve been.
Justin knelt. “Hey there, little one. You’ve been ringing for help, haven’t you?”
The pup whimpered and crawled into Notcho’s side, shivering.
They brought her home, wrapped her in a wool scarf, and named her Holly. Posters went up. Calls were made. But no one came forward.
That night, as the town gathered in the square for the lighting of the tree, Justin noticed a boy standing alone, eyes scanning the crowd. His coat was too thin, his boots mismatched.
Justin approached gently. “Looking for someone?”
The boy nodded. “My puppy. Her name’s Hope. She ran off when we got here. We just moved. My mom’s working late and I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
Justin smiled. “I think she’s been waiting for you.”
He led the boy to the apartment, where Holly leapt into his arms with a yip that could’ve melted icicles.
But Justin didn’t stop there.
The next morning, he visited Mrs. Bouchard at the bakery, Lawson D. Woods at the woodshop and Hugo First at the train depot. Quietly, he arranged a few things: warm meals delivered to the boy’s apartment, a proper winter coat and matching snow boots from the church’s donation bin, and a standing invitation to join the Tuesday night cocoa circle at Lawson’s.
By Christmas morning, the boy and his mother found two baskets at their door.
One was woven with pine sprigs and lined with flannel, filled with mittens, cookies, and a note that read:
Welcome to Bonnechance. You’re not alone. The lines are always open.
Beside it sat a second basket—wrapped in a big red ribbon, overflowing with puzzle books, a wooden train set made by Lawson, a plush snowman, and a squeaky moose toy that made Hope bark with delight. Nestled among the gifts was a small envelope with a hand-drawn paw print and a message:
From Notcho Dog—with tail wags and holiday hugs.
Later, Justin sat by the window, the little brass bell now hung on Notcho’s collar.
“You gave her up,” he said softly. “So she could go home.”
Notcho Dog rested her head on his knee, amber eyes full of quiet knowing.
Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, the bell chimed once—clear, bright, and full of grace.
- A Tiny Bell and the Christmas Miracle - December 23, 2025
