Peppermint Bark

“Don’t you think it’s too soon to talk about getting another puppy for Christmas?” I asked, stealing another piece of bacon from the plate.

“No,” Carol insisted. “You know how sad Crystal’s been since Mistletoe crossed the Rainbow Bridge.”

“You mean since the dog died,” I translated, not being one for euphemisms.

“Yes. It’s not good for her to cry all the time. She isn’t even excited about Christmas this year,” my wife replied.

“But it’s only been a few weeks…”

“I get it,” she said. “Normally it would be a good thing to allow our daughter to grieve Mistletoe’s passing. But it’s only two days until Christmas. Every Christmas is precious. We need to make this Christmas more special than ever. I think we should get her a puppy.”

“Honey, I’m all for Crystal getting another dog, but as you noted, it’s only two days before Christmas. I don’t think we should rush into this. Maybe next spring…”

“I know Rusty was your dog before we moved in…” she said.

“Mistletoe,” I corrected. “You changed his name to Mistletoe. “

“Whatever. I know his passing has been hard on you too, even though you won’t admit it. We’re all grieving. But it’s Christmas! Every kid wants a puppy for Christmas. My parents got me a cute puppy for Christmas when I was her age,” she insisted.

“I know you are big on Christmas. You start decorating the house before Halloween,” I teased.

“Not true,” she countered. 

“And you are forever singing Christmas songs in the summer,” I teased even more.

“Not all summer,” she admonished. 

“Heck, your mother named you ‘Carol’ and you named ‘Crystal’,” I reminded.

“I was thinking of ‘Kringle’ until you talked me out of it,” Carol sighed.

“Better than ‘Ebeneezer’,” I replied. “Thank God Crystal wasn’t a boy.”

“Let’s stay focused, Jon. Puppy or no puppy?”

You must know that my wife is beautiful — tall, blonde, big blue eyes, a smile as bright and warm as sunshine, as sweet as a peppermint stick in a steaming cup of hot chocolate. So, saying no to her is a really hard thing to do.

“Puppy,” I agreed. 

“Thank you, Jon!” she squealed. “I need to stop by Mom’s place to feed Tinsel, plus a million other things I need to do.”

“Right.” Tinsel the cat. “I forgot that your mother skipped town for a holiday cruise,” I answered. “So you want me to look for a dog?”

“Please Jon. Do it for me?” my wife asked, pouting with those candy apple red lips and batting those gorgeous eyelashes. How can a man say “no” to that?

“Alrighty then, I’ll stop by the shelter after work. It’s probably a good thing you aren’t going. Knowing you, every dog would be coming home with us for the holidays,” I teased.

“Absolutely! I hate the thought of any animal not having a home for Christmas,” Carol admitted. “Trust me, I won’t be twiddling my thumbs while you’re gone. There’s so much to do: I have presents to wrap and…”

“Presents? Did you say presents? More Christmas presents. For me?” I joked. “Give me a hint: Fruit of the Loom boxer shorts or floor mats for the car?”

“Go!” she ordered, giving me a quick smooch before sending me on my merry way.

***

The local animal shelter was busy as I pulled into the lot. Customers were coming and going in the icy, winter chill.

“Merry Christmas,” I greeted the young woman at the front desk. An assortment of dogs could be heard barking in the back, making conversation challenging. “I’m looking for a small girl for an eight-year-old dog…I mean, a small dog for an eight-year-old girl. Can I see what you have?”

“Sure. Business has been as brisk as the weather,” she replied. “Everyone wants a puppy for Christmas.” 

“So, I’ve heard,” I mumbled.

“I don’t think we have many little ones left but you’re welcome to go back and look,” she offered.

As I approached, kennel workers were feeding their guests and cleaning out stalls. The front desk gal was right: Only two German Shepherds, a Great Dane and a Boxer remained, aside from an assortment of meowing kitties nearby.

Sad, brown eyes stared up at me as I searched the kennels for the perfect dog. By the end of my visit, I felt guilty as sin leaving these pooches without a home. But our house was small, as was our backyard.

I knelt and petted the Boxer on its head, and whispered, “Don’t worry, buddy. You’ll find a good home soon. Merry Christmas!”

“Christmas Carol” — my wife — was rubbing off on me.

***

When I got home, my wife was surprisingly upbeat as I entered the house. Our daughter greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and an “I missed you, Daddy!” before Carol frantically gestured for me to meet her in the office.

“We’ll be right out, honey!” she called to Crystal, shutting the door behind her.

“Sorry, sweetheart. No luck at the shelter,” I informed.

“It’s alright. Look at this!” she replied in a hushed voice. “I found the perfect Christmas puppy for Crystal!”

She clicked on the laptop and started playing a short video of six cute Boston Terrier pups. Four were sleeping, all nestled together, while two others wrestled. One was quite a bit larger than the other; still, the smaller, pure white pup was keeping up with the tri-colored brother — twirling, spinning, sliding, bouncing, jumping, leaping, playfully biting and coming back for more.

“Feisty, aren’t they?” Carol remarked.

“They’re going at it like Hulk Hogan and André the Giant,” I kidded.

“Look where they are: ‘Uncle Al’s Christmas Tree Farm’! After you left, it came to me that when we bought our tree the day after Thanksgiving, I saw a sign saying, ‘Puppies for Sale’. So, I went to Uncle Al’s website and found this video. What do you think?”

“How much?” I asked.

“Four hundred,” she answered, teeth clenched, waiting for an explosion. 

“It’s Christmas,” I said. “I would do anything for Crystal. And for you.”

“Thank you, Jon,” she replied with glee, smothering me with kisses. “Let’s call Uncle Al right now!”

***

“Uncle Al’s Tree Farm,” the recording said. “Get your last-minute Christmas trees, now fifty-percent off! They all need to go! I’ll even throw in free rope and tie it to your car for you. As you can tell, I’m not here right now; I’m pretty busy, working day and night to bring you and yours only the finest of trees this holiday season…”

“Uncle Al’s voice-mail,” I informed Carol. “Uncle Al is long-winded.”

“…And when you hear the beep, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Merry Christmas!” Just as I was ready to leave a message, I heard a click and someone picked up the phone on the other end.

“Uncle Al speaking, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, hi Uncle Al. This is Jon DeAngelo. I live in town. We buy a tree from you every year. You would know me if you saw me…”

“Get to the point!” Carol hissed in the background.

“We saw your video with the puppies,” I continued. “Are they still for sale?”

“Only two are left,” he informed. “They’ve been selling like hotcakes. Better buy one quick! They’re as cute as a button! Perfect with children. Every kid deserves a puppy for Christmas…”

“So, I’ve heard,” I interrupted, trying to get a word in between the sales pitch. “Can you please do us a favor: hold the dogs until the morning? We’ll be over first-thing to meet them.”

“Okey-Dokey,” Uncle Al agreed. “Make it eight o’clock sharp. I got someone else interested, but since you are a returning customer…”

“Thanks! And we don’t even need the free rope,” I kidded. “See you in the morning.”

We both started jumping up and down like little kids before hearing a soft knock on the office door.

“Can I come in?” our daughter asked, slowly opening the door. She caught us embracing, lipstick marks on my cheek.

“I knew it. Fooling around again!” she scolded.

***

We arrived at the tree farm at eight, as planned, after dropping off Crystal at school. Greeting us at the door was jolly Aunt Sally — turns out, true to his voice-mail — Uncle Al was working the spacious field beside the old farmhouse, selling trees to late comers on this December 24th.

“Merry Christmas!” she greeted, escorting us to the garage. There we found the two dogs we saw wrestling on the video. “This big one is ‘Rocco’ and the little dude is ‘Cupcake’,” said Aunt Sally.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. The names will change,” I joked.

As we hemmed and hawed, both of us got down on the garage floor with the playful pups. Aunt Sally mentioned that Rocco was a big cuddler, a real teddy bear, a gentle giant, while Cupcake was a bit on the shy side, but friendly, with a sweet, less mischievous personality.

Both were five months old. Cupcake had a hearty appetite and checked out healthy, despite being the obvious runt of the litter. 

The brothers weren’t as rambunctious as in the video. They sat looking at each other, kind of sad. Maybe they knew what was about to happen.

“These two have always favored each other,” Aunt Sally said. “They got along with their other siblings, but these two seemed to always have a bond.”

I looked at Carol, not knowing what to say. They were so cute. Both were perfect for our little daughter. We could picture her holding and cuddling either one. It was a tough choice.

Aunt Sally must’ve read our minds because amid the quiet awkwardness she blurted out, “If you are having a hard time deciding between the two, why not take both? Al said there is a lady all the way out in Hawaii of all places still thinking about adopting one, but she didn’t put any money down. So, we could just tell her they were both sold.”

I would’ve gone with anything Carol decided but surprisingly she made her choice right then and there.

“No, we just don’t have the room,” she said. “We love them both, but I think our daughter would love the cuddler the most. She is very sentimental and affectionate.”

“Just like her sweet mom,” I said, happy to have a decision made. “Rocco, it is.”

I paid four hundred in cash to Aunt Sally as Carol scooped up Rocco. She knelt beside Cupcake, tears in her eyes, saying softly, “You’ll be ok, sweetie. You’ll find a good home for Christmas, I know it. Say so long to your brother.”

Rocco and Cupcake touched wet, cold noses before Carol stood up. She hugged Rocco before leaving the garage in tears. I thanked Aunt Sally, and we left.

***

“Cheer up,” I said to Carol as we drove home. “I feel just as crappy as you do. But let’s not bring this little guy down. Rocco — or whatever his name will be — has a new home for Christmas.”

“You’re right,” she replied, kissing the new dog. “Just wait until you meet Crystal! You’ll love your new family.”

We silently listened to every bittersweet Christmas song on the radio on the drive home. As we pulled into the driveway, the last strains of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”, sung by Bing Crosby, was playing when I finally spoke up.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.

“Yes,” Carol encouraged. “Let’s turn around.”

I swiftly pulled out my phone and anxiously punched Uncle Al’s number. “We better call first, just in case.”

“What’s an extra dog, anyway?” she rationalized. “Cupcake is only small. He doesn’t take up much room. He probably eats very little. It only makes sense to keep them together. Crystal will love watching them play together. “

“Hello? Aunt Sally?” I yelled into the phone. “Yes, it’s Jon DeAngelo. We were just there. Yes, we just bought Rocco. No, everything is ok— No, we don’t want to bring him back. In fact, we want to drive right back and take Cupcake, too. We changed our minds. We just don’t have the heart to separate them…”

My excitement came to a screeching halt when Aunt Sally informed me that Cupcake had been officially sold to the lady in Hawaii. The deal was finalized right after we left. 

I thanked her and hung up. I looked at Carol, not saying a word. At least little Cupcake had a home, too.

***

We set Rocco up in the office for the night. Carol got him Mistletoe’s old supper dish and water bowl. We spread puppy pads on the floor, played soft Christmas music and dimmed the lights low.

We both agreed to take turns checking on Rocco during the night. If Crystal heard any noise coming from the office, we would use Santa Claus as our excuse. How Santa got into the office instead of coming down the chimney would be dealt with later.

Around three a.m. I was keeping the whimpering Rocco company in the office. We sat in the dark, me in my red plaid pajamas, stroking his silky fur, whispering encouragement as our new puppy slowly closed his eyes, falling asleep in my lap.

Since I didn’t want to wake him, Carol found me snoozing in the lounge chair around six in the morning. I ended up staying awake, knowing our little girl would awake soon, champing at the bit to see what Santa had brought her for Christmas.

We ended up sharing a glass of red wine as we waited for Crystal’s appearance while snuggling on the couch and staring at the beauty of Uncle Al’s Christmas tree, all decorated with glistening ornaments.

The colorful lights softly blinked in reds, pinks, yellows, oranges, and blues while the living room emanated the sweet pine scent. We sat cozy in our matching red plaid pajamas, savoring a quiet Christmas moment.

We placed Rocco into a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer gift bag, right in the middle of red and green tissue paper. Carol tied a festive red and white-striped bow around Rocco’s new collar. We were ready for the big presentation.

“Look what Santa brought!” we yelled. Crystal screamed with joy when she saw Rocco peeking his gray furry head out of the bag. She hugged him over and over. It was so nice to see her happy again. I hugged Carol, whispering, “You were right.”

Just then we heard a knock at the door. I peered out the front window. It was snowing outside; a pristine white blanket of snow was building on our front lawn. As the song goes, everything looked like a “marshmallow world” as far as the eye could see.

I noticed an evergreen pick-up truck parked in front of the house. The words “Uncle Al’s Tree Farm” were written on the side in white. I opened the front door and there he was, the grizzled Uncle Al himself, looking down at a piece of wrinkled paper. The swirling snowflakes frosted his bushy beard and tattered overcoat. 

“Merry Christmas! Is this Two-Twenty-Nine Fourth Avenue?” he asked.

“It sure is,” I assured.

“Well, I’ve got a special delivery for a Miss Crystal DeAngelo!” he announced.

“But we already have a Christmas tree,” I objected.

“It’s not a tree,” he growled. “It’s something else. Let me get it out of my truck.”

By the time Uncle Al slogged his way back through the snow with a brown carrier, Crystal and Carol had joined me on the front stoop.

“For me?” my curly-haired daughter questioned, appearing beside me in her matching red plaid pajamas.

“Well, this here little critter is for you, missy!” Uncle Al said proudly. “Straight from the North Pole. This here card goes with it.”

I opened the envelope and read the little card aloud: “Dearest Crystal, Sorry I can’t be with you this Christmas. Your grandmother is lying on a warm beach in Hawaii. But I would never forget you — especially at Christmastime! Love, Grandmom.”

“I knew Grandmom wouldn’t forget me!” squealed Crystal. “I wonder what it is. Maybe a skunk?”

Rocco, the only one without red plaid pajamas, poked his head around my leg. He started to sniff at the crate which I took from Uncle Al.

“Maybe it is a skunk?” I said hesitantly, suddenly with the urge to give the carrier back to Uncle Al.

“No skunk,” he said, chuckling. “Now, if you want some good eating around the holidays, you should try possum sometime…”

“What do we owe you for the delivery?” I hastily asked him.

“Nothing!” he answered. “All taken care of. I’m happy to make special deliveries on Christmas Day. I feel like Santa Claus when I see the children smile. You all had better get inside and out of this freezing cold, especially since you are only wearing your skivvies. Merry Christmas, folks!”

***

Back in the warm living room, with Crystal bouncing up and down, almost bursting with excitement, and while Rocco pawed at the crate, we carefully opened the cover.

We waited several tension-filled seconds. Suddenly, out popped a pure white bundle of fur.

Cupcake!

Rocco stood on his hind legs like a grizzly bear, leaping on top of his brother. They began to wrestle in a ball of fury, just like old times, rolling around the living room floor, wrapping paper flying everywhere, squeals of doggy-happiness filling the house. Reunited once more.

“Just like when I was eight!” Carol laughed, starting to cry.

I stood there, startled. “Cupcake?” I said to no one in particular, my mouth hanging open.

It had to be Fate. The fact that my dear mother-in-law, laying in the Hawaiian sun, thought of buying Crystal a puppy for Christmas, as we had; and it had to be Fate that she bought the dog from Uncle Al, not knowing we had purchased a dog from Uncle Al; and, most fateful of all, our Christmas puppies turned out to be brothers.

“Another puppy! This is the best Christmas ever!” Crystal exclaimed.

“It was meant to be!” Carol cried. “Fate. Every child deserves a puppy for Christmas.”

“Or two,” I added.

Cupcake rolled over several times, looked at us with his big brown eyes, gave three barks and promptly peed on the floor.

“Understandable,” I deduced as Carol gasped and Crystal giggled. “Overcome with excitement and joy.”

I grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen and cleaned up the mess.

“I got it!” Carol blurted out. “New names!”

“Oh, here we go! I can’t wait to hear this,” I mumbled while on my hands and knees, the paper towels soaking up the mess.

“Peppermint and Bark!” she proudly proclaimed. “Get it? Bark?”

“Yikes.” Well, at least it wasn’t Ebenezer.

---

Delight in more wonderful, heartwarming Christmas moments with further reading here at the MockingOwl Roost. Merry Christmas!

• Almost Christmas Morning – Christmas Eve Essay
• Twas the Night Before Christmas at the Black Orb – Narrative Poetry
• A Christmas Eve Wish – Christmas Eve Poem
• Vacation to the Dragons of Io Part 1, Part 2 & Part 3 – Christmas Fiction
• Gingerbread House for a Mouse – Christmas Poetry
• Gingerbreading – My Favorite Things
• Fireplace for Your Home – Christmas Essay
• A Gift for Sandy – Creative Christmas Nonfiction
• Yuletide – An Original Christmas Melody