Fiction by Kenneth M. Kapp
Many explanations have been given as to how Rudolph’s nose became red. One claims that Rudolph was often found dipping in Santa’s punch bowl and another that reindeers, like dogs, were always sniffing around and once he got too close to a freshly painted fire hydrant. Nevertheless, they don’t concern our Rudolf, who was born in America and whose name is spelled with a “f.” It’s the tips of his antlers that are red and not his nose!
Rudolf is a natural leader and the head of his herd. When they are on the move, he’s at the front showing them the way, the old routes for pasture deeply etched in his mind. He’s always concerned about their well-being; on the trail he’s continually looking back, making sure everything is OK. It would be a poor leader who let his herd become sick or lost. Rudolf was not going to let it be said of him: “Tsk, Rudolf’s a poor leader, a sorry excuse for a reindeer!”
And so, he took note when the herd began showing signs of lethargy and their coats appeared rough. He circled back and began asking questions: “Donner, how’s your appetite?” “Blitzie, how long have you had this discharge from your eyes and nose?” “And, Dancer, you seem to have trouble walking, never mind dancing. What’s up?”
No one could give him an answer. Me thinks I should meditate on this. (Recently, when the herd paused at night, Rudolf read Shakespeare and now his thoughts were so peppered with “Me thinks” that he often found himself sneezing and losing his train of thought.) He knew the signs of scurvy, and he knew what to do!
“Cranberries,” he addressed the herd from a hillock, “cranberries! You need to eat cranberries. You’re manifesting signs of scurvy and need vitamin C in your diet. And cranberries are an excellent source. Tomorrow, I will lead you to a bog with wild cranberries. We’ll be there before noon!”
The entire herd cheered. And true to his words, by noon the next day, they were at the bog. Few reindeer had ever eaten cranberries, and most wouldn’t recognize a cranberry if it bit them on a hoof.
Vixen was impatient. “So, now what? It’s too cold to go swimming and there’s ice on top!”
“I’ll show you what to do.” And he broke the ice with his antlers and plunged his head into the freezing water, emerging with cranberries stuck on the tips of his antlers. “These,” he said, sounding as if he was an ancient Greek orator, “these are cranberries, and you can eat them right off my antlers. They have lots of vitamin C which cures scurvy. And then we can take turns spearing cranberries for each other. We’ll all get healthy together!”
Comet was impressed. “Rudy, that’s a wonderful idea. Cooperation cures us…and I think those red cranberries on your antlers are cute.”
Rudolf was happy: the reindeer were helping one another. He didn’t care that the cranberries stained the tips of his antlers and even left some in place as a badge of honor.
It was only later that Chaz, the proprietor of “This & That” in North Pole, New York, 12946, wired the tips of Rudolf’s antlers so that the cranberries would flash at night. But that’s another story.
Moral: Using your head to help others may have results that are not immediately evident.
Kenneth M. Kapp lives with his wife in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, writing late at night in his man-cave. He enjoys chamber music and mysteries. His stories have appeared in more than ninety publications worldwide. Please visit www.kmkbooks.com.
