Happy Christmas! At this time of year, I like to share one of my fav adventures. Maybe you’ve heard it, but it’s always fun tellin’ it.
It started with my ol’ fren, Denali, a working sled dog living in Alaska. A coupla Christmases ago, he Woofmailed me about a cool fren of his with an interesting job, who’d agree to an exclusive innerview if I was interested. Of COURSE I was, an I asked if his fren was a member of his sled team.
“No, her name’s Vikki and she’s on another famous team: She’s the first fee-male to qualify for Santa’s reindeer team. (Vikki’s short for Vixen.)”
All I could manage was a semi-coherent, “Wait! Wha-at? She’s WHAT? Seriously? Are you woofin’ me right now?”
When I recovered sufficiently, we switched to Facetime. Denali was laughing. “No Woof, Bonz.
You’ll meet at an undisclosed location, for obvious reasons, and agree never to disclose it, under penalty of no treats in your Christmas stocking forever.”
“AGREED!” I instantly replied. “So, now what?”
On the designated day, necessary paperwork in hand, Denali an I arrived at the Super Secret Location an I had the most amazing innerview of my career, thus far.
It was magical: fat snowflakes floating down and a beautiful barn where Santa’s team lives while preparing for The Big Night.
I probly shouldn’t have been surprised, but I WAS, when we were greeted by three elves, Chloe, Gregor and Bob, an escorted into the warm (Thank Lassie) barn. Chloe, Gregor an Bob went to the fourth stall on the left, opened the gate, an suddenly, this gorgeous creature was walkin’ toward me: soft brown an cream coat; dark, slender legs up to HERE, hooves covered with fluff; yellow/greenish eyes; and a pair of graceful antlers that curved like a crown above her gentle face.
“Miss Vikki,” Chloe said, “meet Bonzo, a faymuss journalist from Florida where they don’t have snow. Or ice. Or glaciers.”
Vikki’s voice floated toward me like hundreds of tinkling bells. I was sincerely hoping I could relocate my own voice sooner rather than later.
“I’m quite familiar with Florida, silly,” she laughed. “It’s part of the job. Welcome, Mr. Bonzo. When Denali told me about you, I realized it was the perfect opportunity to share my story. Our story, ackshully. It’s been hundreds of years in the making.”
“I’m honored to meet you, Miss Vikki, and a liddle overwhelmed,” I admitted, looking around the barn: pristine stalls lined either side of a broad, garland-adorned walkway, Christmas tack, a thick red blanket and a name hung neatly by each. “I’m beyond excited to hear your story.”
“And I’m eager to share it!” She gestured me into her spacious stall. Chloe, Gregor and Bob took seats on a bale of straw as I opened my notebook.
“I am a Finnish forest reindeer,” Vikki began. “Over the centuries, many of my family, all boys, have been honored to be on Santa’s team. It’s the dream of every young reindeer boy. Whenever I saw one of my brothers head to the North Pole to try out for a coveted place on The Team, I’d wish I could someday get the chance.
“However, up till then, the sleigh team was an All-Boys’ Club. It’d always been that way. Then one day, waving goodbye to our brothers, me an my girlfrens decided we were just as smart and strong as them, (plus, unlike stubborn males, when we get lost, we ask directions, a crucial characteristic when visiting every family in the entire world in one night; one year, pre-me, they were headed for Boise and ended up in Tahiti. Believe me, THAT was a major kerfluffle). So why shouldn’t WE have a shot at The Big Show?”
“What did you do?”
“We girls crafted a detailed argument against gender bias; listed reasons why we girls were at least as qualified as the boys; formed a delegation; and travelled to the North Pole to make our case in person to The Man. “Santa listened and, as we munched molasses-and-clover biscuits, studied our documents. He put his finger on the side of his nose and nodded, but remained reluctant to change tradition. But we persisted, and politely reminded him that the boys had always had to wear antler hats because they lose their own antlers in the fall (adding significantly to the Christmas Eve budget; and visuals are SO important), whereas we girls still have our own beautiful antlers. At that point, at last, Santa agreed! Victory was ours! He opened one position on the team, we all tried out for it, and I won!”
“What was it like being the only girl?”
“I stood my ground. I had to show that I could pull my share. Dasher, Prancer, Comet and Donner were fine with it. Dancer and Cupid really loved it, especially the glitter and bells I put on my red harness. The three of us frequently get together for hot cocoa. Blitzen, well, it took a while. He’s Old School. I’m Besties with Rudolph, ever since I convinced everyone there’s no truth to the rumor his nose is the result of off-hours frolicking. It’s actually a genetic condition, and I always carry Kleenex and special protective cream to keep it glowing.”
“When the holiday’s over, what does the team do till next year?”
“We decompress here at the barn for a while. Then we go out to pasture, and begin another year of intensive training to keep our bodies in shape and our minds quick. You have to when you’re expected to lug a big sleigh stuffed with tons of toys and a driver who is, to put it politely, no slender reed, all while flying ‘like the down of a thistle’ and landing lightly on millions of houses so as not to scare the gingerbread out of the humans below, or damage the roof.”
Heading home over the snowy undisclosed mountains, lollypop forests, toy assembly workshops, and elf cottages, I realized it made perfect sense for ‘reindoes’ to be a vital part of Santa’s annual flight; and perhaps some Christmas Eve, it’ll be an All-Doe team guiding Santa through the night sky.
Till next time,
Don’t Be Shy
We are always looking for pets with interesting stories. To set up an interview, email
[email protected].
