From the tip of his tail to the end of his button nose he could fit perfectly in a pocket. When curled up and eyes closed he looked like a black, round puff ball. So tiny was he as a kitten that we started calling him twitty kitty.

Then there was the other tail attached to a soft body of two colors, black spots among a sea of buckwheat and so it became his name— Buckwheat. A young pup mix of German Shepherd and Collie he was the dog my future husband, John brought home to a little white farmhouse in the country.

Soon to join this duo was the black ball of fur who officially became Conway. You see, he had to have a more dignified name than twitty kitty.

This sweet trio, all of whom had the key to my heart, lived together in the small farmhouse while  I finished my last year of technical college. I lived nearby in an apartment with my mom and sister. The plan was for me to join John at the farmhouse in about a year once we were married.

But it didn’t stop me from taking part in decorating my soon-to-be little home for Christmas that first year. A fresh cut tree was a must and all the trimmings. John having enjoyed model trains growing up, set up part of his train underneath the tree.

Using extra leaves from the dining room table, placed under the tree, he assembled the railroad track on them. It wasn’t long before I heard the train chugging its way around the base of the tree —almost  like a Norman Rockwell scene.

But you see, when you are young, you don’t always think things through and we hadn’t bothered to consult with the book of 101 lessons for puppies and kitties.

It was a bitterly cold Christmas Eve that first year in the farmhouse. John had to work late delivering fuel oil so no one would be without heat on Christmas day. I impatiently waited for him at the apartment, all dressed up in my holiday best, hoping we wouldn’t be late for church.

It was an hour before church when he finally swung by the apartment, honking the horn. I ran out and hopped in the car for the short jaunt out to the farmhouse. He would have to shower and dress quickly, but we could still make it to the holiday service on time.

But what to our wondering eyes did we see when we walked in the back door? No, not eight tiny reindeer and St. Nick like the fairy tale depicts.

Garbage was flung in every direction all over the kitchen floor and into the dining room with streaks of oh-my-gosh, what in the world is this green stuff!?  It was here, there, and everywhere. And oh, the smell! Mingled in-between green gobs of who knew what, and garbage, was shredded Christmas wrapping paper.

I was afraid to look in the living room. But by now, instead of lying my finger aside my nose, like yup, St. Nick does in that oh-so-lovely tale, I was plugging my nose from the stench that seemed to be growing stronger by the minute.

Peeking around the corner, my Norman Rockwell scene looked like a tornado had went through. The tree was half-cocked and almost appeared to be swaying a bit. Shattered pieces of, green, gold, red, and silver lay on the train tracks, the train tipped on it’s side, and some rail cars strewn about.

Almost in tears, looking at the tree again, was it my imagination or was the tree really moving? Upon closer inspection I was met by two beady black eyes starring right into mine  from the center where Conway had most comfortably perched himself. For a long winters nap, perhaps?

But “Oh no, kitties do not belong in trees,” I said in a stern voice as I pulled him from his perch and plunked him on the living room floor.

There really was no time to clean up the mess, except the green, runny, seriously, what is it? had to be dealt with before we left.

Still wondering what it could be I grabbed a bucket of hot water and rags, while John gathered up the garbage strewn about. Buckwheat sat nearby not quite himself, head hanging low, calmer than usual, when John spotted the culprit thus solving the mystery of the ghastly green, smelly, goop!

Packets of green taco sauce not used from a take-out-dinner brought home from a local Mexican restaurant chain had found their way into one said young pups tummy – where as we all know, can’t stay there for long!

My frustration waned and my heart grew ten times its size in that moment realizing that poor little Buckwheat must have had quite the fright as the green monster of dread began to rumble in his stomach and then made a mad, explosive dash to exist his back end.

While I heard church bells playing in the distant, and the lawn outside the little farmhouse was covered in fresh, pretty white snow, it’s the green Christmas inside that I would never forget!

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