When one of Santa’s reindeer celebrated ahead of Christmas

When one of Santa’s reindeer celebrated ahead of Christmas

18 December 2024

IT was a cold morning just before Christmas. A hard frost had settled on the ground. In the grotto, Santa, Mrs Claus and the reindeer were busy snoring – all except one.                                    

Vixen, with the blue nose and the naughtiest of the reindeer, jumped out of bed. “It’s my birthday,” she honked. “I want presents and cake and I want them now!” The reindeer woke to find Vixen standing on top of the fridge. “It’s my birthday,” she insisted. “Give me stuff!”

Santa fell out of bed and pulled on his trousers…over his head and down towards his legs – the worst way to put on trousers. “Vixen, it is not your birthday,” he screamed. “It’s almost Christmas and your birthday is July 7th.”                                                                   

Vixen knew perfectly well that it was not her birthday, but how else was she to have presents and cake? Mrs Claus was cross – so cross that steam escaped from her ears.

“Get off the fridge at once my girl,” she scolded. “It’s almost Christmas Eve and you have to go and get your nose polished.” Rudolf the red-nosed reindeer was unhappy. “I am the only sensible reindeer in the grotto,” he said.                                   

The reindeer were finding it difficult to behave. Comet, the one with the silver nose, tried to eat the Christmas tree. Dasher, who had a black nose, got stuck in the cupboard, Clyde, with the gold nose, attempted to eat Santa’s hat.

Donner, who had a yellow nose, started to paint the grotto lime green with blue spots. Prancer, with the green nose and dressed as Lady Gaga, grabbed a microphone and sang ‘Honk if you want to chase an Elf’, while Dancer, who had orange nose, actually chased an elf.

Cupid, the reindeer with the pink nose, plastered lipstick all over her face. As for Blitzen, who had a purple nose, he arrived at the grotto late and was handed over to Santa by police officers who drove him home.  

Vixen galloped up the street, shouting “It’s my birthday, it’s all about me and it’s my birthday.”

She came to a halt outside Mr Jelly Stuff’s ice-cream parlour and sniffed the pavement and the door before tottering in. Poor Mr Jelly Stuff. Every week Vixen appeared at the parlour, lied about it being her birthday and demanded ice-cream.

“Go away Vixen,” he cried, visibly upset.

Vixen licked all the tubs of ice-cream. She honked and gobbled up the jelly that the families were eating, jumping from table to table, drinking milkshakes and burping.

“Go away,” bellowed the families. “No, it’s my party, Vixen replied. “It’s my birthday and I am allowed to do this.”

Santa and Rudolf rushed into the ice-cream parlour, sliding on the jelly that covered the floor and whizzing out the other door, landing with a bang!

Vixen darted from the parlour, leaving a catastrophe in her wake, and headed towards the centre of the little town.

Vixen knocked on the door of a cosy house on Sunnyside Lane.                                                  Inside Mr and Mrs Morgan and their two children sat around the breakfast table. They were a nice, sensible 

family.

“Who could that be?” asked Mrs Morgan as she poured a cup of tea from the best china pot. Crash! Vixen fell through the door and galloped into the house.

“Hello,” cried the children. They stood up and cheered.

“Children,” warned Mr Morgan. “Return to your sensible selves at once.”

Vixen hopped on to the table, sending the china tea service to the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces.

“It’s my birthday,” cried Vixen. “No it’s not,” replied Mr Morgan. “You do this every week.”

Vixen grabbed the brand new 55-inch surround sound television. “This is mine,” she said.

“No it’s not,” screamed Mrs Morgan as she tried in vain to collect all the shattered bits of her tea service and stick them back together.

Santa ped down the chimney. “Ho, ho, ho!”

Mrs Morgan was far too upset to allow Santa to do the whole ho, ho, ho thing.

“Get out of the fireplace and bring our television back,” she told him.

Rudolf landed on top of Santa. “Happy Christmas everyone”, he honked. Mr Morgan jumped up and down, sobbing uncontrollably.

Santa and Rudolf scrambled out of the fireplace, avoiding the bricks that came tumbling down, and ran after Vixen, who had dashed out of the back door, across the garden and over the fence, dragging the television behind her.

By now everyone had gathered in the street. Vixen weaved and bounded along on the open road, followed by 

Santa and Rudolf, who carried a saucer of milk in the hope that Vixen would stop been naughty and lap up the milk.

Mr Hedges, the school teacher, was mowing his lawn when Vixen galloped over the top of him, grabbed the lawnmower and Mr Hedges’ wig.

“Give me back my hair,” he shouted. Vixen shook her head. “It’s my birthday,” she told him. Everything belongs to me.”

She uprooted the Christmas tree that Mr Hedges had planted earlier in the year and ran away, dragging the television, the lawnmower and the Christmas tree behind her. She put on the wig and disappeared into Mr Hedges’ bathroom.

The police arrived. Inspector Jane Dane and Constable Albert Jordan stepped out of the police car.

Just think,” Inspector Dane said. “If I handle this right I could be Chief Constable. Hand me the load speaker.” Constable Jordan searched his pockets. “I’ve lost it again,” he said.

Inspector Dane’s face turned red. “Thanks to you, I’m going to have to shout. Do we have a deion of the criminal?” Constable Jordan nodded. “It is a reindeer,” he said.                                                          Inspector Dane smarted herself up. 

“If I do a good job I could be the Queen or even the President of the United States.” Constable Jordan decided it was best not to tell her that she could never be Queen and having lived all her life in Co Down it was unlikely she would ever govern America.                                                                     Vixen peeped out of the bathroom window. ‘It’s my birthday. I am allowed to do this.

Inspector Dane smiled. She told 

Vixen: ‘That’s alright then.”                                                                        Constable Jordan shook his head. “I bilieve that was a lie,” he said.

Inspector Dane stood on top of the police car. She shouted: ‘You’ll never get away with this. Inspector Dane always gets the naughty reindeers.” With that she toppled off the car and landed in a pool of mud.

Vixen honked and retreated back into the bathroom.           

Santa picked Inspector Dane up. “Ho, ho, ho! Happy Christmas. Reindeer are fun,” he said.                                                            

Inspector Dane tried to wipe the mud from her face. “Perhaps if you kept your reindeer on a lead this would never happen,” she told him.

Rudolf was unhappy with this remark and let out a slow scary honk.

The Inspector smiled. “Not that I would ever agree to such a thing,” she assured him. 

A helicopter flew above the house. “Remove the roof,” ordered Inspector Dane.

“No, not that. Anything but that,” screeched poor Mr Hedges as he dropped to his knees.

It was too late. A group of highly trained elves landed on the roof and ripped it apart. The helicopter lowered a net, allowing the elves to tie a rope around the bath that Vixen was lying in.

She was having a shampoo and bubble bath, albeit with a television, lawnmower and Christmas tree.

The reindeers darted around the street. “It’s our birthday. Give us stuff,” they cried.

The people screamed and shouted: “Get back to the grotto and fill the sleigh with presents.

The helicopter flew high into the sky with the net containing Vixen in the bath, along the television, lawnmower and Christmas tree.                                                                      

The helicopter flew back to the grotto, just in time for Christmas Eve.