Christmas Stories

The Reindeer Robbery

The Reindeer Robbery
 
         Santa’s reindeer are not your average tundra dwellers. The North Pole staff includes a team of reproductive biologists and cell technologists which have, over the centuries, selectively bred and developed the cream of the biomechanical crop in terms of reindeer physiology. With the advent of cloning technology (Santa is always quick to remind people that he is the one who gave Craig Venter his first science kit, on a Christmas Eve several decades ago), the techniques for raising premium reindeer for Santa’s sleigh team have become even more sophisticated.
 
         Santa’s reindeer have bigger hearts for maximal oxygen uptake, and their cells make more mitochondria to produce more energy to power their muscles and improve endurance. Also, premium nutritional programs ensure that the males do not lose their antlers after the seasonal rut, as their wild cousins do (that widespread rumor that all the antlered reindeer in traditional pictures are female is nothing but an urban legend!).
 
         None of this technology, however, is of any help if the sleigh team goes missing just a few hours before their scheduled annual delivery rounds, and that was exactly the problem on one unfortunate Christmas Eve.
 
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         The North Pole was in utter uproar. It was precisely four hours before the scheduled annual takeoff, and the entire staff was in a panic. A young stable elf, Toby, had made the fateful discovery when he came to distribute the traditional pre-flight meal. He had come flying into the barn’s office, his amethyst-colored eyes as wide as tennis balls, wailing the bad news.
 
         “The deer! The reindeer! They’re gone! Dancer and Donnor and Prancer and—“
 
         “Yes, yes, we know their names!” snapped Kurt, the head of the Stable Management Office, as he bolted past the hysteric Toby to survey the stalls for himself. When he reached the catwalk which overlooked the main barn area, he stopped dead in his tracks, as if he had hit an invisible wall.
 
         It was true, each stall was as empty as a naughty child’s stocking.
 
         This was very bad indeed.
 
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         “Santa, we’ve got our best forensic team combing the stable as we speak, they should have a preliminary report about the scene for us ASAP.”
 
         Santa rubbed his temples and groaned, but did manage to thank the messenger elf for the report. This was the last thing Santa needed. That year, the circumstances in the North Pole would have tried the patience of even the jolliest of saints.
 
         First there was the stunted crop of Christmas trees, forcing the Lumber League elves to order expensive imported firs from Norway in order to meet their quotas. Unfortunately, some caterpillars had ridden in on the imported trees, and the pests had proliferated and almost demolished that year’s peppermint crop.
 
         Next, the ovens in the bakery all malfunctioned at once. The North Pole’s Maintenance Squad had been on the case as fast as possible and managed to repair the appliances, but it had set the baking schedule behind, forcing the Cookie Crew to pull several all-nighters in order to supply their usual volume of sweets. This resulted in most of the caffeinated Mocha Marvel cookies never making it out of the kitchen itself, being used by the sleep-deprived elves in order to doggedly keep baking in back-to-back shifts.
 
         Then, just a few days before Christmas Eve, the laundry sorter in the linen room had malfunctioned, and Santa’s bright red suits had been washed with a load of white tablecloths, resulting in the largest bubble-gum colored suit ever seen since the incident involving a terrible miscommunication between Henry VII and his tailor.
 
         And now the reindeer were gone.
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         Grinkel, the head of the forensic team, rushed into Santa’s office, brandishing a manilla folder full of what Santa assumed were case reports and investigation summaries.
 
         “Any leads?” Santa asked hopefully, leaning his considerable mass forward in his chair.
 
         “Yes! We had picked up on this from the previous cases, but this new incident just seems to confirm our suspicions!” Grinkel made a slight production out of pulling out his reading glasses and arranging them on his nose before continuing, reading from one of the papers in his folder.
 
         “Fiber analysis has shown that several lavender hairs found in the stable match those found in the Christmas tree lot, the bakery, and the laundry room. These samples have been analyzed, and our lab has just determined that they are indeed hairs, coming from a mammal, order Lagomorpha, family Leporidae!” Grinkel paused and looked at Santa expectantly, obviously awaiting a reaction.
 
         “Errr....Lego what? Have we forgotten to fill a Lego order for the children of this family?” Santa’s face was the picture of puzzlement.
 
         “Oh no,” Grinkel suddenly understood the miscommunication. Santa was a great man and had many skills, but a scientist he was not. Fortunately, he had these specialized elf teams for advice on such matters.
 
         “Lagomorpha and Leporidae are classifications, you see, they identify an animal in this case a rabbit!”
 
         “A rabbit…” Santa mused, tugging his beard thoughtfully. “A rabbit…a RABBIT!” His eyes, usually so merry and jolly, traded their typical twinkle for a flash of anger. All of the sudden all of the happenings that year seemed to make sense. He stood quickly and grabbed his traveling cloak, heading for the door with a speed not expected for someone of his age and girth.
 
         “Sir? Sir? Where are you going? Do you know any rabbits? What are you doing? Why are you taking the keys to the airplane?” Grinkel rushed after Santa as the red-suited man dashed for the small plane he used for his day-to-day errands.
 
         “I do know one rabbit, one rather sneaky rabbit, and not I but we are going to see him immediately,” Santa replied, sweeping Grinkel into the passenger seat of his plane and cranking the engine. Grinkel, who worked on the forensic team because he had flunked out of tree-decorating school due to his fear of heights, forlornly watched the ground recede farther and farther as they flew off into the crystal winter sky.
 
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         Just as there are special organizations for teachers, and for paleontologists, and for doctors who treat toenail diseases, there is also an organization for what is diplomatically termed “Holiday Representatives.”
 
         The League of Holiday Reps consists of all the usual “characters” depicted in popular culture as representing any of a number of both religious and secular holidays (although many holidays tend to blur the lines between those two categories). The League meets at least once a year in order to discuss current events affecting holidays, such as the performance of candy companies in international stock markets, the effect of rainforest destruction on the greeting card industry, etc etc.
 
         On that chaotic December day, Santa and Grinkel arrived at League’s headquarters, swooping down from the cloudless sky. The plane’s wheels barely touched the runway before Santa clambered out. He burst through the doors of the great building—Grinkel trotting along behind him—and strode purposefully to the head desk.
 
         The fairy on duty glanced up from the game of solitaire on her computer, refocused on the screen, then processed who she had seen come through the door and immediately rose to her feet.
 
         “Santa! What can I do for you? What brings you here on today of all days? I know what a busy time this is for you!” Several other staff members poked their heads out of their offices when they heard Santa’s name, wondering what situation could have possibly pulled him from the North Pole on today of all days.
 
         “The Rabbit! I need to see the Rabbit immediately!” Santa bellowed.
 
         The staff, who had never heard Santa raise his voice before, were momentarily shocked at his demand, but then scurried into action. The desk-fairy immediately punched some buttons on her telephone, dialing the main GPS office to find out exactly where the Easter Bunny was at that moment. (Being a Holiday Representative involves the sacrifice of certain liberties and many aspects of privacy, although fortunately they have not yet been reported to the ACLU).
 
         The Easter Bunny was located in under a minute: he was in his burrow, apparently spending the Christmas holiday at home just like average people do.
 
         “Thank you,” Santa called over his shoulder as he dashed back out the door to his plane. He felt a twinge of regret at his display of bad temper, and added,          “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
 
The bewildered staff members stared out the window after him, wondering if constantly being surrounded by elves was really beneficial to an aging man’s psychological health.
 
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         The Easter Bunny’s burrow is not quite the pastel-colored fantasy land that some people might expect. He is admittedly not the best housekeeper, and the chickens required for Easter egg production tend to give the place a slightly barnyard ambience.
 
         As soon as Santa stepped out of his plane, followed by the ever-loyal (although slightly vertigo-stricken) Grinkel, he could see that he had most certainly found the source of all of his recent woes. Scattered around the yard above the burrow were the remains of oven parts—bearing the North Pole logo, obviously stolen from Mrs. Claus’s kitchen. As Santa gazed around, he also spotted empty boxes of herbicides, which quickly reminded him of his failed tree crop….and, to stamp out any remaining doubt that he was about to confront the source of his sabotage, he saw several cloven hoofprints in the mud, leading into the burrow.
 
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         Santa is used to entering people’s houses with the utmost care and silence, but he felt that on this occasion he had a valid reason for not being quite so subtle.
 
         He banged on the door to the burrow, but when all the answer he got was the squawking of chickens, he decided to simply let himself in.
 
         Upon opening the door, he tried to resist the urge to crinkle his nose at the smell of chickens and old eggs, possibly leftover from the previous Easter, he immediately spotted the Easter Bunny, who was scurrying around in a vain attempt to herd the reindeer team into a hallway leading deeper into the burrow.
 
         “Stop!” Bellowed Santa, pointing his gloved finger at the rabbit.
 
         The Easter Bunny, apparently resigning himself to the fact that he couldn’t escape this situation—his only access to the rest of the burrow being blocked by his herd of contraband deer—slowly turned and faced Father Christmas.
 
         “Chris…I mean, Mr. Kringle…this is a surprise….” He stuttered, clacking his long incisors nervously.
 
         “I believe,” Santa said, gesturing towards the reindeer, “that you have some explaining to do.”
 
         The Easter Bunny nodded slowly, wringing his ears in misery..
 
         “Unfortunately, I am always on a time crunch on December 24, and thanks to your antics I am now on a time crush. I have children to attend to, so you’ll just have to ride along and explain yourself on the route.”
 
         The Easter Bunny started to protest, but Grinkel, standing behind Santa, gave him a frosty look and simply shook his head slowly and pointed towards the airplane.
 
         It should be noted that the Easter Bunny, a burrow-dweller by nature, is even more terrified of heights than our Grinkel.
 
         It should also be noted that at that point, Santa was not very concerned about the robbing rabbit’s phobias.
 
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         So, as Santa made his deliveries that evening, the passenger seat in the sleigh was filled by a six-foot tall lavender colored rodent. There are always a few Santa sightings on a given Christmas Eve, but this year there were fewer reported than usual. Several people did spot the sleigh, but were certain their eyes were playing tricks on them, and didn’t dare report that they’d seen two Holiday Representatives together.
 
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         Santa, despite his initial enragement, is an understanding soul, and as he listened to the Easter Bunny’s story, his anger was slowly replaced by pity.
 
         “You see, it’s just that…you’re so popular, so glamorous, you get fancy clothes and cute helpers and a beautiful wife…and what do I have? Chickens. Do you have any idea of how much I loathe chickens? Feathers everywhere, squawking at all hours of the night….and I have no helpers for intelligent discussion during all the long hours I spend in my chocolate lab…”
 
         “I thought rabbits had huge extended families, don’t you have relatives that could lend a paw?” Santa asked.
 
         The Easter Bunny let out a rueful chuckle.
 
         “Look at me! I’m purple! I’m the freak of the family! Why do you think I applied for a job with the League? I had no choice but to capitalize on my weirdness, it was either “go holiday” or join a circus somewhere.
 
         “When I applied at the League, the only holidays that had job openings were Easter and Hanukkah….and I guess they figured a rabbit would go well with chickens, stupid barnyard stereotypes…” The rabbit’s voice trailed off momentarily as he took a moment to fume about that injustice.
 
         “You didn’t want Hanukkah, anyway,” consoled Santa, “That position has been open forever. Have you EVER heard of another holiday where there were presents involved but no mythical entity to deliver them? I think it’s a lovely celebration, and I actually love latkes every bit as much as gingerbread, but eight nights of gift deliveries…there has yet to be a soul brave enough to volunteer for that job.”
 
         “Well,” said slightly pacified Easter Bunny, “I’ve got Easter, and it’s just not fair, you get all the excitement and my numbers of mall bookings are falling every year…and kids pull my ears and laugh at my teeth, and…I guess I was just jealous of you, so this year I decided to try to complicate things at the North Pole…I’ll probably lose my League accreditation and now I’ll have no job at all, not even one that involves living in chocolate-covered chicken filth….” He trailed off again.
         Santa sighed. He was unable to stay angry at this pathetic creature.
 
         “I’m not going to report you, we were able to overcome all of the obstacles you threw at us, and you didn’t harm my reindeer team—”
 
         Rudolph interrupted this statement with a snort, pointedly waving an antler at his hooves, which had been coated by chicken droppings. Santa, long accustomed to Rudolph’s egocentric dramatics, chose to ignore the interruption and continued.
         “And I may even have a solution to your chicken problem,” Santa mused.
 
         The Easter Bunny leaned forward eagerly, waiting for him to continue.
 
         “We have plenty of penguins up where I live, you see…very merry birds, quiet and clean and ever so intelligent and helpful…we could send some your way, they make much bigger eggs than chickens, and would be much more pleasant to live with, as long as you keep them well air-conditioned.”
 
         “Oh, that would be wonderful, Santa!” The Easter Bunny’s ears danced in excitement. “The most wonderful Christmas present I’ve ever gotten!”
Grinkel, listening from the backseat, privately noted that the rabbit’s name had NOT been on the Good List this year, and that such a generous gift for A Naughty was not in the protocol…but he chose to keep that observation to himself.
 
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         So, the reindeer were recovered, the presents were delivered, the penguins were put to good use, and the Easter Bunny was saved from a full-blown psychological meltdown.
 
         Such are the wonders of the holiday season.