On a particularly tough day last December, Flores came up with the idea of having her twins send letters to Santa by balloon. She told them that Santa would grab the balloons while he flew through the air on his sled.

The twins were excited. Flores helped them compose their letters, writing down all the things they dreamed Santa might bring them, and then put the notes into festive red balloons.

On a chilly, windy morning, she dressed the girls in identical pink sweatshirts, put beautiful bows in their hair, and then took them outside to release their wishes to the universe.

Several days later, when Alvin Bamburg, 66, was deep in the woods in Grand Cane, Louisiana, something caught his eyes. Hanging in a fallen tree, it looked like litter. But Bamburg felt he must pick it up.

“God just told me,” he says.

As Bamburg approached, he saw that the object was a broken balloon. Attached was a piece of paper decorated with shiny star stickers. It was a child’s Christmas wish list.

“Dear Santa,” the handwritten note read. “ My name is Luna. I am four years old, and I live in Liberal, Kansas. This year I have been nice. I would like candy, Spider-Man ball, and Frozen doll. With love, Luna.”

Bamburg’s heart hammered in his chest. Ever since he was a child, he had dreamed of this. “Years ago,” he says, “classes at school released balloons with notes. I’ve always wanted to find one.”

He believed this was his childhood wish coming true. And he knew he was going to make Luna’s wish come true too.

He just wasn’t sure how.

It is over 650 miles from Grand Cane, Louisiana to Liberal Kansas. But Bamburg’s wife, Lee Ann Bamburg, was not frightened by the distance. An enthusiastic Facebook user, she had seen other people find all sorts of connections through the site and thought it might help her husband find Luna.

So Alvin posted a photo of the balloon and the Christmas list on his Facebook page.

Having received so much generosity, Flores and her girls were deeply moved.       

One spring morning many years ago, I had been searching for gold along Coho Creek on southeastern Alaska's Kupreanof Island, and as I appeared from a forest, I froze in my tracks. No more than 20 paces away in the bog (沼泽) was a huge Alaskan wolf—caught in one trap.

From her appearance, I guessed that she had been trapped only a few days. I suspected that if I tried to release the mother wolf, she would turn aggressive and try to tear me to pieces.

What's next? I wondered. The mother wolf was clearly suffering. Yet each time I moved in her direction, she let out a howl. I thought I had to find her something to eat.

I hiked toward Coho Creek and spotted the leg of a dead deer. I whispered gently, “OK, Mother, your dinner is served, but only if you stop growling at me. Come on, now. Easy.” She sniffed them, then gobbled them up.

Over the next few days, I divided my time between searching and trying to win the mother wolf's trust. I talked gently with her, threw her more meat. Little by little, I kept edging closer—though I was careful to remain beyond the length of her chain. The big animal never took her dark eyes off me. “Come on, Mother,” I pleaded. “You want to go back to your friends on the mountain. Relax.”

On the fifth day, I delivered her daily meat. “Here's dinner,” I said softly as I approached. I slowly placed my hand on the mother wolf's injured leg. I applied pressure. The trap was open, and the mother wolf pulled free.

My experience in nature suggested that the mother wolf would now disappear into the woods. But cautiously, she walked toward me. Slowly, she sniffed my hands and arms. Yet, strangely, it all seemed so natural.

After a while, the mother wolf was ready to go into the forest. Then she turned back to me. At the same time, the mother wolf sent a long howl into the air. Then she disappeared.

Four years later, after serving in World War II, I returned to Coho Creek. There, standing, I gave out a long, low wolf call—something I had done many times before.

An echo (回声) came back across the distance.

Moments later, the wolf was gone.

I live on a farm where dogs are part of the landscape. Yet the dog I spotted didn’t quite fit in, as I moved down my driveway that chilly late February day. At first glance I thought it was my brother’s Chihuahua. But a second glance raised doubts, for I knew my brother’s little house dog was no candidate for a swift run across a yard. So I figured this unknown dog would soon find its way home, and I had tasks to do.

A few days later, while walking past the door to the back of my house, I saw the deck swing moving. Clearly, someone or something had set that swing in motion. Being home and alone that evening, the thought of an unknown presence wandering about set me on edge.

Next morning, standing directly in my front yard, biting on grass, was that tiny dog I had spotted earlier. I called my husband to take a look. But when the dog heard the front door open, she ran away for the safety of the nearby woods.

It was just a matter of time before the bad weather or the wolves would be the death of such a small and defenseless dog. We realized the poor thing must have been waiting secretly around our house for weeks. My husband and I formulated a rescue plan. We placed food and water near the deck swing. The next morning, the food and water had been consumed, so we put out more. It took several days of putting out food and water before we caught the dog in the act, and another two weeks after that before the dog felt comfortable enough to approach one of us.

One afternoon, I came home and found my husband holding out his hand while leaning forward in the deck swing. I witnessed a happy dog, tail wagging furiously and eating hot-dog pieces from my husband’s hand. The stage was set for the final part of our plan: to persuade the dog inside.

A few nights afterward, when it was pouring, I opened the door and the dog was there.

Moments later, holding the hot dog, my husband announced, “The dog is back.”