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.”

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“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!!!”

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“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.

Freddy opened his mouth for his morning “ribbit” and absolutely nothing came out. He tried again and again but still…nothing. This had never happened before. Well he couldn’t croak when he was a tadpole, but neither could any of the other tadpoles in the pond.
If a frog can’t croak…well….he might as well be a salamander…not that there’s anything wrong with being a salamander, but Freddy had heard his father’s booming bull frog croak and wanted to be and sound just like him.
Since Freddy was a “wild” frog he wasn’t even aware that veterinarians existed. Frogs, like all animals that live in nature must deal with illness and injuries on their own. Freddy hoped that his voice would return very soon and he tried gargling stream water, but that didn’t help.
Freddie was hoping that none of his pond friends would notice his “not” croaking, but as Sammy slug slithered by he whispered ” What’s a matta…got a frog in yer throat? Hee Hee Hee…..” and he slimed on down the rock on the pond bank leaving his tell-tale track.
“Now everyone’s gonna know that I can’t croak. That Sammy is such a gossipy slug!”
But other pond residents were sympathetic to Freddy’s condition and waved their fins or shook their shells as Tommy the turtle did, but none had a solution for Freddy’s condition.
As Freddy contemplated his next attempt at a cure, an infrequent visitor to the pond a large white swan landed and glided nearby to Freddy. “Oh Miss swan do you know anything about…ah sore throats? I noticed that you have a very long neck and so at one time or another you must have….” But the swan held up a black webbed foot, shook her head, then immediately flew off dripping water as she rose into the air, circled the pond, then flew off. At first, Freddy thought that the swan’s actions were very rude, then later he found out from Mr. Mallard that she was actually a “Mute Swan,” and that explained everything!
Then Freddy thought about who would be the smartest, wisest animal he knew, and as he was wondering, he heard “WHO…Wh…WHO…”
It was the barn owl Ollie. Surely he was the smartest animal around the pond. Freddy would ask him. But wait! Owls sometimes liked to dine on reptilians, but Freddy was an amphibian wasn’t he? Just to be safe, Freddy waited until Ollie had finished his dinner or breakfast or whatever it was. You couldn’t be sure with owls, they keep such odd hours.
When Freddy was certain that Ollie was hooting an “after meal” hoot, he jumped around to get Ollie’s attention. After all, he couldn’t yell up at him. It took a while but finally, Ollie saw Freddie and swooped down and landed on the rock next to Freddy’s lily pad.
“What’s up?” asked Ollie wiping his beak off with his left talon. Freddy pointed to his throat and whispered…”I can’t croak….”
“Ummmm…have you tried gargling?”
“Yep!” whispered Freddy.
“Ummmm….well….maybe you could hop over to that house over there, and get onto the back porch. A kid lives there and he’ll want to keep you as a pet, and when he finds out that you are a frog that can’t croak, his Mom will give you human medicine and cure you. Then you can escape back here. Well…see you later!” Then the Owl flew off quickly and silently back up into his tree hollow.
“Pretty smart!” thought Freddy, but then he remembered that his Dad had told him to watch out for humans because some of them eat….Freddy didn’t even want to finish the thought about his frog legs, and decided that Ollie’s suggestion just wouldn’t do.
Freddy also tended to dismiss the suggestions of the nearby squirrels, because he thought they were nuts. A honey bee said that honey was a great treatment for a sore throat, but wasn’t about to give up any in his hive, and Freddy had no way of getting up to the nest anyway.
After about three days of inquiry and contemplation, Freddy was just about to give up and be a “mute” frog…perhaps the world’s first, when Pierre the rabbit hopped by. Freddy was about to ask him about curing laryngitis, but then realized rabbits never talked anyhow, they just wiggled their noses and ears and silence was one of their defenses to predators. Oh yes and a rabbit’s very fast legs too, let them scoot away from danger.
Freddy decided to give his throat just one last try before committing himself to a life of non-croaking, when a faint, and somewhat crackling “Ribbit” emitted from his throat. “Huh?” He tried again and as he kept trying, his voice kept getting stronger and stronger, and soon he was about 95% back to his old croaky self.
All of the other pond animals heard him. Some inhabitants of the pond were happier to hear Freddy return to his natural croaking state than others.
The mayflies, crickets and mosquitoes, were delighted to return to the pond now that they could tell exactly where Freddy was, which let them be sure that they were as far from Freddy as they could get.
“I guess sometimes you just have to let nature take its course!” said Freddy, which of course, it always does.

If you were a grape you might hang in a bunch
And some hungry kid might have you for lunch
If you were a grape maybe grape juice you’d be
You’d have to be squeezed but you would flow free

If you were a grape you could be a jam or jelly
And you might wind up in somebody’s belly
If you were a grape you might become wine
You’d be in a bottle for a very long time

Yes a grape has the potential to be different things
Just like girls and boys that can be anything
Your potential is so great it’s simply amazin’
In fact, I’m so old I’ve turned into a raisin