After breakfast games, (which, for me are far more fun than actually eating breakfast, since I always order the same old, boring thing) we went home to pick up Chloe for a quick adventure. Quick as in "jaunt" worthy. Speedy. Fast.
We piled into Green Truck and drove into Bonny Doon. Which was considerably farther and windier than I'd anticipated, and both Chloe and I were a tad green around the gills upon our arrival at the picturesque Christmas Tree Farm. We were Christmas Tree hunting, and Chloe was to be our Christmas Tree Hunting Dog. She was so excited! Tail wagging, sniffing every tree, shrub and stump trying to discern what exactly it was we were looking for. Her eyebrows saying: "But this IS a tree. Look. It is a TREE. It smells like one, too- that is the first true sign of a Tree being a Tree. What more do you silly humans want from me?" But, alas, Chloe and Husby and I all have different interpretations of what a "Christmas Tree" is. I like the Noble Firs, because they are noble. They have a stately elegance about them. Their branches are spaced just-so to showcase all the lovely bobbles I enjoy hanging from their boughs. They *have* boughs- glorious ones. They aren't skimpy, or scrawny, or lacking in any way. Just unoffensive, unobtrusive luxurious nobility in the form of an evergreen. Husby likes the ones that look like inverted ice cream cones. (What are they, Douglas Firs?) They look manicured and manufactured. There's no place to dangle ornamental globes and bobbles from. They are solid and I hate am not a fan. Chloe likes the ones that have been previously peed on by other doggies.
I should backtrack a tad- this was the *largest* Christmas Tree Farm I had ever encountered, and with more varieties and species of evergreen than I even knew existed, and I *knew* that with so many choices we were sure to come to agreement on at least one tree. I now firmly believe that before one marries they should have a serious talk about what each considers a "Christmas Tree" to be, because it can just get ridiculous, and hairy and may even be grounds for an annulment.
We were there for hours. Hours, as in, maybe, almost two. But really, who goes Christmas Tree hunting for anywhere near two hours?? (Besides us.) Husby even went so far as to call us indecisive. I am not indecisive, I am particular, and I set him straight on that point. Chloe trudged along, refusing to sniff out a single conifer more, staring longingly at Green Truck, as if to say "What you are looking for doesn't exist. It is a myth- like a unicorn". We abandoned the handy Tree-Wheelbarrow within the first 18 minutes of getting there, and upon resigning, I refused to retrieve it and bring it back. That would involve facing the sweet little man whose farm we were stomping around, and telling him amongst acres of trees, none were suitable to our standards. I couldn't do that. I was too ashamed. I just wanted to make a run for it, and duck behind the dashboard, gravel flying as we made our great escape.
Chloe leaned against me as Green Truck wove along the road laid out between redwoods and chaparral (one of Husby's favorite words) back towards home. We decided to cave, and go to the lot down the street from us. We brought Chloe out, with her newly found enthusiasm, and this time walked the aisles. I hated them. They were needle-dropping, grey, over-priced Christmas Tree Corpses. I almost cried, and Husby ushered me back into Green Truck, pup in tow.
A quick detour brought us to our secret-hidey beach spot, which involved traversing down algae covered cliffs to reach the sand. Chloe had never done this, being a puppy, and was battling trepidation with the urge to be with her humans. She found her footing, and in no time was fearlessly bounding over the slippery rocks. We played at the ocean's edge, and in the caves and with the anemones. Chloe had never known such wondrous joy. Far more fun than overhyped Christmas Tree Hunting could ever be. "Husby, do we really need a tree?"
"Yes, or it will never smell like Christmas and Santa won't come." Back into Green Truck.
We decided to try the school down the street (they were selling trees as a fundraiser.) ALL Douglas Firs. At this point Husby was starting to agree, they really aren't all that great. We left Chloe in the truck- she just couldn't handle any more disappointment, and was content to slurp from her bowl.
Our adventure was drawing to an unsuccessful close. Christmas Trees, or at least worthy ones, apparently were as elusive as unicorns. We'd been out hunting for nearly four hours at this point and couldn't bare it any longer, so we headed home. In a tiny, half-hearted voice I said "The nursery across the street from us has trees." Husby sighed and pulled in. Chloe didn't try to get out, just stared dejectedly out the rear window as we walked toward their meager selection. "See any possibilities?"
I pointed at the third from the left, propped up in a water-filled 1/2 oak barrel. Husby lifted it out, gently shaking it's boughs loose. It was beautiful, majestic, and quite Nobel. Tears welled up in my eyes. Someone from the nursery came over (probably to see why I was about to start blubbering) and asked if we needed help- I blurted "We've been searching for four hours- FOUR HOURS. You don't understand, it's just been such a long day." Wordlessly he handed me the tree's tag and then asked Husby if we wanted it wrapped in netting. (I think he was afraid to speak to me and accidentally set off the waterworks. Good call on his part. I am unpredictable in highly emotional settings.) I skipped, yes, skipped, off to pay (and to sneak a lovely wreath and anything else I could get my grimy fingers on while headed toward the register). And returned to Green Truck fully loaded with Tree, boughs, a stand and wreath. Chloe was in the cab, wagging her tail excitedly. (Maybe just because we were finally so close to home?)
We pulled into our drive and let our exhausted pup into the house. She collapsed on the couch while Husby and I went to work clearing a space for our prize tree and securing it into it's stand outside, before bringing it in. Chloe roused herself for the final, triumphant moments of Tree Hunting, and in South Park Stan fashion, vomited just as Husby brought in the tree. We are racking it up to overwhelm. Exhaustion. Car-sickness. We are racking it up to SNL's Kristen Wiig's "Aunt Sue" who "can't keep a secret" type-excitement. "A tree??? In the HOUSE?? NO WAY?! That's what all this was adding up to? Why didn't you tell me! It's too much, it's too much! It's in the HO-U-SE!"
*Puke*
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