It began with my husband and me discussing Christmas, and our desire to not buy gifts for each other. This is an annual exercise. We are at the point in life where we don't need to add non-essential 'things' to our carbon footprint. Less is more.

Then we feel terrible about the thought of each other having nothing to open Christmas morning, so we cave and submit to the commercialization of Christmas with me getting an ugly outfit, or him receiving an overpriced gadget or tool he will never use...or a talking fish on a wooden mount.

This Christmas was no different, except that my husband was adamant about not wanting clothes, gadgets, or a gifted trout.

I enlisted my daughter (Nashville Trashville because she still owes me for that experience). She suggested he would love a watch, the kind her husband has. The wristband doesn't yank arm hairs, and it looks 'hot' on her husband's wrist. Her words, not mine. It's called a G-Shock and runs about a hundred dollars.

Four days before Christmas, I considered the watch a desperation win-win, so off to the mall we went as Jingle Bells serenaded us through the car radio.  I parked near a sporting goods store that would likely stock the sporty timekeeper. The store happened to be situated across the mall from a pet shop.

As we entered the mall, we immediately forgot our sole mission, and began drifting toward the pet store, as if on auto-pilot. Call it a magnetic force or kismet. Brunhilda, my snarky inner voice, suggested the stroll through puppy-mill-ville might be the worst decision of 2016, but she was giddy at the sight of all the doggies in the window, seemingly serenading us with "Deliver us from temptation, Amen." I suggested Bruni was getting her prayers crossed with songs from the 50's.

As we approached the large puppy viewing window sporting an array of adorable, plump, puppies I stopped and said, "Whoa, why are we about to enter a pet store--am I buying your dad a golden retriever puppy for Christmas?" in my perkiest tone of the season. My daughter giggled as puppies frolicked, and roly-poly'd into our hearts. They stole my sanity like the Grinch stole Christmas. My daughter's sensibleness ran along behind yelling "YES, LET'S DO IT!"  The apple doesn't fall far from my tree.

I'm not into pet stores or the puppy mills they support, but I'm always curious to mosie in to discover the new boutique crossbreeds the mills turn out: Pomsky, Chug, Frug, Pitsky, Whoodle, and Goberian are just a few of the ridiculous intentional crossbreeds.

It was about this time, Brunhilda suggested I might be losing my mind before going on to suggest "Why stop at one? Let's surprise him with a litter!" Things were getting out of hand. I blamed it on excessive Christmas cookie-ing.

The last time I surprised my husband with a Golden Retriever was November of 1987. I was six months pregnant with our third child--the one now assisting with triever retrieval. My husband loves the breed, and Madison was #2 of the three we've owned. I remember distinctly walking into the backyard with our two young sons, holding the puppy on top of my bulging belly. Hubby was fixing the cooler and didn't need a ladder to exit the roof at the sight below, he was so excited.  We hosted a celebratory birthday dinner that evening, and invited his parents. I vividly recall my mother-in-law's disgust at the addition of a new puppy, snarking "You need another dog like you need a hole in your head!" Those are the type of comments people don't forget. Brunhilda thought she was rude for the nine-thousandth time, and wanted to pop a hole in her head. Pregnancy hormones tended to set Brunhilda off fairly easily back in the day.

Our third golden was Griffin, he was rescued from a home with heavy marijuana useage. It likely compromised brain cells. Griffin was an adventure. If you've ever read the book or seen the movie, Marley and Me...Marley and Griffin were similar in their exhuberant joy of living life.

So it seemed reasonable that in our fortieth year together, we were due for our fourth Golden Retriever. Why not at Christmas? My daughter quickly checked her phone for Golden Retriever puppies for sale. She's a whiz at finding things on her phone. I can barely see the screen without cheaters, but she worked that Apple like an oil broker on Wallstreet. Within minutes, she had a few leads. They were either overpriced for my undernourished budget, or were in California. So I bought the watch.

We eventually returned home. Wiithin five minutes of gift wrapping the watch, my daughter was talking to a woman about a litter. My daughter is a PerPit--a person who is as persistant as a pitbull.

As luck would have it, the woman was heading our direction from across town to meet another family near us. She had eleven golden puppies. We struck GOLD! Brunhilda was so excited she pee'd herself.

Arrangements were made. We would meet the woman and her husband in the parking lot behind the Nike store at an outlet mall. I brought enough cash to adopt seven rescue dogs, my preferred breed. We arrived ahead of schedule and found a parking spot. We waited.

Rapid fire texting was going down between the breeder and my daughter. They were circling the parking lot. Driving a Lexus. Eye contact was made. Parking was impossible. Christmas shoppers were making puppy purchasing difficult.  I grabbed my purse and as we walked toward the car, Brunhilda blurted "What if this is a robbery...we are getting set up. They know we have cash, they bonk us over the head in the back of this lot and take off. We end up without a puppy and they end up with all that cash! We might even end up with a hole in our head!"

I shared Bruni's warning with my daughter. I saw the fear in her eyes, too. She advised me to run my purse back to the car. Did I mention my daughter is expecting her first child? My head was racing. How could we be so stupid? Dogs constantly challenge my common sense.

Now the car holding my husband's 'future' pulled into a handicapped parking spot, a petite woman jumped out and flipped up the back of the SUV. She already lost points with the illegal parking.  I had no time to run back to my car with my purse, so I told her I was packing heat and not to make any fast movements. Just kidding, that was Bruni's suggestion.

There they were...two boys and five golden girls all snuggled up together and sound asleep. What cash? I locked onto one of the boys, picked him up and at his first little whimper I knew I was forking over the wad. Ten minutes later, the three of us were back sitting in my car. I might have experienced a twinge of buyer's remorse, but the pup grunted and I was over it, fully commited to my husband's Christmas surprise. It might be the last time he pooh-pooh's the suggestion of clothing or tools as potential gifts.

I wasn't sure how he was going to handle the surprise. We already had two dogs; three cats, three tortoises, and one bunny. Bruni logic suggested we needed a third dog to round things up, and two additional bunnies to square things up. Seemed reasonable to me, math not being my thing.

The pup stayed hidden at my daughter's home until Christmas morning. This was one of the best kept secrets the two of us have ever managed. The big reveal came after my husband opened a stocking full of 'golden' references in an attempt to solve the clues. It was epic.

He was unsuccessful in solving the riddle. He couldn't understand why I gifted him Gold Bond Foot Cream; chocolates wrapped in gold paper; Golden Oreos, and Golden Light Blue Agave Sweetener.  The milk duds are his favorite movie treat.  I was hoping for a Marley and Me trigger. 

The video below reveals the moment my husband met his new buddy, with an assist by our two-year-old grandson. My daughter-in-law's facial reaction was nothing short of priceless as she peered into the box.  The Per-Pit filmed the grand opening. That is her snarky voice directing removal of the box top.  The big reveal wasn't going down fast enough following four days of top secrecy.

My husband has named his puppy, Buck, and we are completely in love with him. Buck has received the torch from our golden ghosts of past, Triever, Madison, and Griffin. I like to think they are pleased with the tradition of Wakeford golden moments continuing.

Hopefully, Buck will give me a few notables to write about some day, but for now, he's just sleeping, eating, pooping and peeing.