Mrs. Claus was knitting tiny footies from the brightest red yarn ever spun. Oh, they weren’t for any baby that the Claus’ knew but were special presents for Gamin the Elf whose old footies just plain wore out.
She noticed Santa pacing up and down the living room and looking out the door window every few seconds.
“What’s the matter, Dear? Does something worry you this season?” She asked without even looking up from her knitting.
“Well…it should have been here by now….or even by yesterday. There are only two days to go!” said Santa wringing his hands and staring out into the snowy horizon.
Then after another hour or so, there was a loud “VRRROOOM” which shook the whole house and startled Mrs. Claus causing her to “drop a stitch.”
“Oh, My…what was that?” Mrs. Claus exclaimed.
Santa was jumping up and down, clapping his hands opening the front door, and charging out without even putting on his red jacket.
“You’ll catch a cold if you go out without…..” Mrs. Claus started to say but it was too late because Santa was already making tracks in the North Pole snow running like a youngster out to the front gate.
Mrs. Claus put down her knitting and went to the door. What she saw made her jump back in amazement.
Sitting right in front of the gate was a huge shiny silver object with flashing lights and white smoke puffing out of its enormous tail.
Santa was still jumping around like a little boy on Christmas morning as Mrs. Claus came out to join him. She hadn’t seen him this happy since…well…last Christmas.
“What is it Dear?” she asked.
“Oh it’s my new sleigh…it’s finally here!”
Santa was looking over and under and all around the new “contraption” as Mrs. Claus called it.
“How did it get here? I mean there’s no driver or delivery man or anyone.” Mrs. Claus was very confused by the whole scene.
“Oh, it’s programmable. “Fly by wire” my Dear. It’s the newest thing. Doesn’t actually need a driver/pilot or whatever.” Santa’s smile was wide and he crinkled his nose as he admired his new flying device.
“It’ll do Mach One easy! Oh….it will save me so much more time. Had to do something with so many more children that I have to get to these days.” Mrs. Claus could hardly see Santa’s eyes ’cause he was smiling so much.
“What do you think? Isn’t it wonderful?” Santa asked.
“Ah…well anything that saves you time….except…well…never mind…..” Mrs. Claus scratched her head and actually looked sad.
“What’s the matter…I guess you don’t understand how wonderful my new sleigh really is because you didn’t have to fly the old one!”
“Ah…no Dear…I was just thinking about…well…you know…the reindeer.”
“Oh….Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and all. Ummm….that’s a good point, Dear.” Santa wasn’t smiling so broadly anymore.
“Maybe you should call them all together and explain that… well…technology has improved the Christmas Eve flight. I’m sure they’ll understand. They probably hated flying all that way through cold and heat, and rains and snows…even though they never complained.” Mrs. Claus suggested.
“Ummm….I’m not so sure that my new SUPER SLEIGH was such a good idea after all.”
Santa went over to the stable to break the news to the reindeer in as positive a manner as he could.
After Santa came back from the stable Mrs. Claus asked him…”Well, how did the reindeer take the news Dear?”
“Ah…we worked something out!”
Two days later right after dusk Mrs. Claus heard the VROOM roar of the engines of Santa’s new SUPER SLEIGH and went to the window to wave Goodbye to Santa and wish him a safe worldwide journey.
As Santa taxied the jet sleigh and turned it to head South, (of course, EVERY direction is South from the North Pole) Mrs. Claus had to chuckle as she saw all eight reindeer sitting in the two back seats and Rudolph riding shotgun up front with Santa!

Mrs. Claus was very concerned that Santa, the “Jolly Old Elf” as he is sometimes referred to, needed a bit of assistance as he became more “Old” than “Elf” but still “Jolly”. Mrs. Claus, (her first name is “Eve” as we mentioned in a previous story) suggested that Santa hire an intern to assist with his annual duties. Santa first considered the idea “preposterous,” but Eve saw how slowly he climbed into and out of the sleigh and other small clues that made clear to her that Santa could use a non-Elf hand or two.

But who would be available to help Santa in the extra cold North Pole? Perhaps a young person from Siberia, Finland or Alaska. She even considered a robot until she remembered elves had to keep all robot presents warm until delivery. As Santa’s assistant, the work would be a concentrated part-time job which caused her to think of a college student who always had off of classes for the Christmas holidays.

Then there was the problem of advertising the job. There might be thousands of applicants. Who would interview them, and neither Eve nor Santa would want to disappoint a single one. What to do? Maybe the answer was not hiring just an intern, but to lighten the Christmas Eve load of gifts that Santa had to deliver.

By the way, all of this happened 20 or so years ago, and we just heard about it during one of our fireside chats with the Claus’. You all know by now what Mrs. Claus did to help Santa and he is still managing to handle his Christmas Eve duties by himself. What? Oh yes…I didn’t remind you of the solution to Santa’s problem…why UPS, FedEX, and all of the postal services of the world.

So everyone have a Merry Christmas, and don’t forget to check your front steps and mailboxes.

If you recall the story “Young Santa” you know how Santa first met his amazing Reindeer but I don’t think that I ever told you how they got their individual names.

It became a distinct necessity when Santa first hitched them all up to the sleigh and then tried to direct them. “You there second from front left…pull a bit right!”

Well…as you might imagine, it caused some confusion and delay since the reindeer were all counting rows and lefts and rights to figure out which one of them Santa was actually directing. This could never be when flying and especially landing on tight and may I add slippery rooftops at night.

So Santa decided that each reindeer needed an individual name. He lined them all up in the barn and interviewed each reindeer to determine their individual personalities in order to give them an appropriate name.

First was the most muscular and actually slightly largest reindeer that Santa wanted on the first row right. Since Santa was right handed he preferred to make right turns whenever possible.
“Let’s see. What do you like to do in your spare time?”…he asked the first reindeer.

“Well…I like to run fast whenever I can…if I were a human I’d be a sprinter.”
“Well…then I’ll call you sprinter!” decided Santa.
“Ah…Santa…that sounds like “splinter”…I HATE splinters.”
“All right…let’s see…how about DASHER?”

“LOVE IT!”
“Dasher it is. Next!”
Well, the next reindeer clicked his heels…ah hooves….since he was so glad that it was his turn.

He could hardly stand still waiting for Santa to suggest his name.
Then Santa said…”My…my….you’ll have to stand still and stop dancing around so that I can decide what name is best for you.”
“That’s IT! Thank you Santa I love it!”
“Ah… Love What?” inquired Santa.
“Dancer…I’m DANCER!”

“OK….then …I…guess….who’s next?”
“Oh…Gee….I wanted to be Dancer….I love dancing and prancing around…I do it all the time…almost.”
“Great….then you will be PRANCER! How’s that?”
“Perfect! Thanks, Santa.”

“OK….you there…”
Then a shy somewhat smaller and a bit prettier reindeer stepped to the front and in a gentle voice asked “ME?”
“I have the right name for you since you are female how about…VIXEN?”
“Hmmm…a female fox is named that…and they are very cute…OK thank you, Santa.”

“OK….and…”
Suddenly a reindeer instantly appeared right in front of Santa in a flash.
“Wow…you are quick as a flash…you should be named….something quick and flashy…COMET! How’s that?”
“Yes…yes…yes…COMET…that’s me!”

“Hey this is going pretty well,” said Santa complimenting himself.
Then Santa realized that he shouldn’t have been so quick to brag, which as we all know is not a good thing to do anyway, because he had a very difficult time with the very next Reindeer.
He didn’t have any hobbies and none of his personal skills suggested a name. Santa even asked for suggestions from the named and as yet un-named reindeer and nothing seemed to fit.

Santa thought and thought…”Ah…when were you born?”
“Ah…two winters ago.”
“No, I mean what date!”
“On February 14th Santa.”
“That’s it…you will be…CUPID!”
“Cupid…yeah…I like it!”

“Next! You will be in the last row on the left…right in front of me. But I think that I am running out of names. By the way…who else is left.”
“I am Sir…me and one other… OH….and that strange nosed reindeer out there under the tree.”

“Well…I’ve only got to name you two today…any ideas?”
“The next to last reindeer said …”When I was a baby…I would run so fast even Mom couldn’t catch me and she said that I “Ran like Lightning!”

“PERFECT” exclaimed Santa…you are Blitzen…that’s a Germanic word for Lightning.
Then Santa turned to the very last reindeer…”So little fellow I guess that makes you Donner the Germanic word for Thunder. But Mrs. Claus HATES thunder so we’ll make you DONDER and she won’t even know that we have a little secret about “Thunder and lightning” so you will be to the left of Blitzen in the last row right in front of me.”

Then Santa stood up tall and said…”ATTENTION REINDEER….TO YOUR POSITIONS ON THE DOUBLE!”
And after some jostling about… there was Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen…Comet and Cupid and Donder and Blitzen all in their proper position and enjoying every moment.

Then Santa turned and whistled loudly toward the open field to the reindeer under the tree.
“RUDOLPH…come over here and join us at the front…and light up that headlight nose of yours!

Rudolph galloped over realizing not only was he NOT left out but actually would be the leader of all the reindeer in the very front of Santa’s sleigh!

But Rudolph did wonder where Santa came up with that name!

Dear Boys and Girls and Moms and Dads too
This is the first time I’m writing to you
The world has grown bigger and Santa has too
So I have a favor to ask all of you

‘Though I LOVE your gifts of cookies, milk and all that
Please try to leave fewer ’cause I’m getting too fat
Oh I’ve always been heavy Mrs. Claus tells me so
But there is a limit for my belly to grow

Chimneys are narrow ‘though I WISH they were wide
I’m finding it harder to get down inside
I COULD climb through a window or come in through the door
But if I do…there goes the folklore

It’s a modern world and I am traditional
So I cannot change and one thing additional
As I finish this letter I’ll make one more plea
Despite what you’re told…keep believing in me

SANTA

“I don’t know why I sit here, hour after hour on this uncomfortable bank…wetting my line. That’s really all I’m doing! I just might be the worst fisherman EVER! It IS relaxing, actually it’s boring if truth be told. And with the cost of the rod and reel, the bait, these waders that I never use, and the vest. I DO love the vest though with all the pockets and little loops for the flys, the khaki “Ernest Hemmingway” look of it. He was a FISHERMAN…” THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA”, but he was more of a BILL fisherman. He’d never sit on a muddy bank like this for hours on end and then make a stop by the fish market on the way home to salvage at least SOME of his masculine dignity…no he’d NEVER do that.”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“This hook is KILLIN’ me! It really hurts and it’s very restrictive too. I just KNOW I’m gonna drown! I just know it! But does HE care? NO, I DON’T THINK SO!…he just sits there all relaxed, NOT in pain…NOT drowning…and these pesky fish scare me, bumping into me with their lips, I guess they are lips. I don’t think I can take much more of this. If the idiot had just…kinda…cut me in two at least half of me could go on my merry way…BUT NO!!! He wants me to wriggle …well I’ve got news for him…I AIN’T wrigglin’. If I, perish the thought, play “dead” these stupid fish won’t even notice me and jerkface there might reel me back in and replace me with cousin Harvey… HATE that worm…and throw me away on that beautiful muddy bank. Well, that’s my plan and I’m stickin’ to it!!!”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Look at that dufus up there on the bank. What does he think…we’re STUPID or somethin’? I mean, even a smelt wouldn’t fall for that old “worm on the hook” trick. He didn’t even put the bait on properly…look you can clearly see the point stickin’ through that ugly unappealing earthworm. I mean, it practically takes your appetite away! Excuse me a second there’s a Mayfly on the surface…”GULP!”…got ‘em! Love it! Well anyhow, I think it’s an affront to all of us fish the way some of these “sport” fishermen show such utter disrespect for our intelligence don’t you Charlie…ah…Charlie? Where are you…OH NO!…Charlie…how could you???”

It was the middle of the night on a tiny farm in Placidville County and Dooley the Rooster was sleeping soundly when suddenly he awoke with a very sore throat. “I hope I’m not getting a cold” he thought to himself but since roosters can’t chew cough drops he just tried to go back to sleep hoping that he would get better before morning. After all, Dooley had his job to do as the official alarm clock of Small Town Farm. He couldn’t imagine what farmer Jones would think if Dooley didn’t crow in the dawn with his loud but scratchy “Cock A Doodle Doo”.

In fact sometimes Dooley was cock a doodle doodaling before Chester the rooster at the next farm would even be awake. Dooley heard that Chester was a bit lazy and though Dooley had never actually met Chester, the hens told Dooley that they had heard Chester wasn’t nearly as good at alarm clocking as Dooley.

But Dooley’s soreness kept getting worse and worse until when Dooley tried to clear his throat…nothing happened! No sound came out of his upturned beak…not even a whisper. “Oh My!” thought Dooley…because the sun was just inches from breaking above the Eastern horizon and his sore throat was as silent as a pile of dirt!

In two minutes the sun peaked its orange round head up over the Eastern fields and Dooley got up on the roof of the henhouse and threw back his head and opened his beak and tried as hard as he could but absolutely NO sound came out! Though Dooley tried and tried just silent air came out of his beak. Dooley attempted to Cock A Doodle Do for nearly an hour until he finally was so tired that he had to lie down on the roof shingles and he quickly fell asleep.

It was almost nine AM when Dooley woke up to the sound of farmer Jones yelling “DOOLEY…DOOLEY…what’s the matter with you rooster? We’ve all overslept because of you and the pigs didn’t get fed and the cows didn’t get milked and Ma Jones didn’t make me breakfast and…and…I’m really upset with you!”

Dooley tried to cackle down to farmer Jones but nothing came out again…but farmer Jones looked up to see Dooley trying to cackle or cluck or whatever roosters say when they aren’t Cock A Doodle Doodling and he said “Oh Dooley…have…you…LOST your voice?”

So Dooley pointed his right wing at his throat and tried again but just quiet air came out! Then off in the distance Dooley heard old Chester from the next farm over…crowing. “Lot of good that old rooster does crowing at 9 AM…But…well…at least Chester CAN crow.”

Dooley felt really sad now and slowly came down from his crowing place on the roof and farmer Jones picked him up and said…”Dooley…I think you have rooster laryngitis…I don’t know how long that lasts but I do have a great idea!”

Well, the farm day went by and then night time came and then all of the animals and farmer and Mrs. Jones went to bed and so did Dooley. About 4 AM Dooley woke up and tried out his Cock A Doodle Doodling voice but he still had rooster laryngitis or whatever farmer Jones called it, but as the sun peaked up over the Eastern fields Dooley remembered farmer Jones’ great idea…grabbed the battered old brass trumpet the farmer had given him and blew a song called ‘Reveille”.. Toot Toot Tooty Toot…and the lights went on in the farmhouse and the cows mooed and the pigs grunted and the hens cackled and the whole farm and EVEN the neighbor’s farm lit up and began their day right on time thanks to Dooley and his big brass trumpet.

Dooley eventually got his Cock A Doodle Doodling voice back but still blew the trumpet on special mornings…and Small Town Farm never woke up late again…EVER!

Have you ever heard
Of the elephant bird?
It’s a wonder that it can fly
The fist time I heard
I thought it absurd
In fact I thought it a lie

But after some trying
A bird book I was eyeing
Said “Exist? They really do!”
But don’t worry they’re rare
And you don’t need to care
Unless one flies over you

“George!”
“Abe!…ah….6042A….I don’t think we’ve ever met before.”
“No…3088D..I don’t believe so.”
“George….how did you get that notch there near the corner?”
“Oh, that….yeah….zipper nipped me as she pulled me out to pay for a balloon at the Dollar Store. LOVE THAT PLACE.”
“Zippers…yeah….why can’t humans stick to the soft old folding wallets?”

“Progress…I guess. I hate those vending machines too, though I will admit they do help with the wrinkles you know!”

“By the way, I saw dozens of new Franklins last week when I passed through the First National Bank. I kinda like the older versions of those bills that look more like us don’t you?”
“Ah…progress again….but yes we’re more…classic…traditional…Abe.”

“By the way…I don’t really like going through the Federal Banks. I’m always nervous that they’ll examine me and decide that I’m too worn to stay in circulation.”
“Oh you’ve got a long time before …ah….I hate to say it….but you know….the SHREDDING!”
“Let’s change the subject Abe…oh wait is she gonna?…..yep….well…see you again I hope!”
“You’re gonna be with lots of friends here at the Dollar Store….see ya! George.”

“Gosh it’s lonely in here now that George is gone. I hope we go to the supermarket. I love being in those cash trays with lots of other Lincolns.”
Then a new voice yelled out….”Hey….you’re puttin’ me in the wrong….oh no…..”
“What are you doing in here? You don’t belong here this compartment is just for bills, legal tender, CASH!”
“Listen, I don’t like it any more than you do Lincoln….Might as well make the best of it….I’m Visa but you can just call me “VEE”!

“What’s wrong Tommy?” said Henny.
Tom pointed his wing toward the side of the home tree.
“What?” asked Henny.
“The Calendar.”
“Yes it’s very nice…new isn’t ….OH….I SEE!”
“Yeah…THIS WEEK!” mumbled Tom with his beak drooped down into his floppy red wattle.
“We were fine last year…remember?” Henny reminded Tom attempting to cheer him up.
“Yeah, but I still lost two tail feathers scraping that high stone fence escaping those camouflaged humans.”
Tom was a very unhappy turkey that, try as he might, could NOT keep from staring at the calendar that had NOVEMBER 28th circled in red.
“WHAT WAS THAT?” Tom jumped at the noise.
“That was farmer Walter’s old pickup backfiring….relax Tom.” said Henny using her softest gobble.
“We should just get rid of this calendar Tom if it’s gonna trouble you so……wait…TOM…this calendar is….from last year 2023…Thanksgiving was YESTERDAY!”
Tom looked as if a huge load had been lifted from his wings. He and Henny trotted off, wing in wing into farmer Walter’s garden and celebrated the day AFTER Thanksgiving by chomping on a small leftover pumpkin and wishing each other a “Happy NO Thanksgiving”.

Hi…my name…well my ACTUAL Latin name is Canis Lupis Familiaris but my human family named me “Butch” Not in love with that moniker but you know humans.
Anyhow, I’ve got this 10 year old boy named Chuck who is my responsibility to raise to know how to be kind to animals and of course, especially dogs!
He’s pretty good most of the time and I do have to take him out for walks on the end of my leash once a day and have to nudge the feeding bowl occasionally to remind him of my feeding time (I can’t open the cabinet where they keep the stuff…yet).
He doesn’t respect my nap times when he’s out of school and that really bugs me but, like I said, he’s only human so I forgive him…time and time again.
I could make life really difficult for him but I try to abide by the Golden Dog Rule because after all, he’s still a human puppy.
Humans think that a dog’s life is so easy. Well, let me tell you, raising a boy in today’s world is no piece of dog biscuit!
We’ll go out to the edge of the woods and Chuck will start doing just about EVERYTHING his Mom had just told him NOT to do.
And you KNOW that if he gets caught or worse yet, HURT…it will be TOTALLY MY FAULT and no table scraps for a week. (however long that is I’m not sure)
Maybe I’m just having a bad day and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful to my….oh I hate this word…OWNERS…they really are very nice…except for visits to the Vet.
So all in all my advice to you “would-be” boy-sitting canines out there is to pick yourself a good kid that hugs and pets you a lot and slips you plenty of treats when his parents aren’t looking too closely.
I’ll tell how to do that in my next blog.

Dog Chow for now…BUTCH.