She rolled her eyes and moved so the rope was not tight but hung in the air between them. Then she flicked her tail and started trotting. Forest turned with her, keeping the rope from wrapping around him. After ten paces, her back leg tripped and she stumbled.
“Don’t worry about it,” Forest encouraged her. “You haven’t done this in a while.”
She started out again, her eyes slitted with determination.
“Concentrate on your feet.”
She threw her head and kept going—still stumbling every few paces.
“Remember how you used to lift off like a tornado?” He laughed at the memory of hanging on to the lead rope as she lifted them both off the ground, making tighter and tighter circles.
Her jaw tightened.I’m not amused.
“You know what you need?” He pulled out his phone and pulled up Chuck Barry’s “Run Rudolph Run.” When he hit play, the tinny sound of an electric guitar from the 1950s flooded the clearing. “You need rhythm.”
Her ears twitched and her nose lifted. Her tail moved back and forth to the bass drum, and her hooves soon found the beat. She pranced. After the first verse, she added a sway to her hips.
Forest started singing along. “All I want for Christmas is a rock-and-roll electric guitar.” He stepped to the music, finding himself getting lost in the fun. “You’re doing it!”
Snowflake smiled even as she kept her eyes on where she was going. She was still thinking hard about making all her body parts work in sync, but she was doing it. The process would get easier from here.
When the last few notes disappeared into the trees, Forest called her to a stop. “Catch your breath.”
Her ribs expanded and contracted with exaggerated movement. Her breath puffed out in clouds, and her steam wafted off her back. He’d never tell her, but she was out of shape. A flying reindeer should be able to trot for states before she was out of breath.
He patted her neck. “Think you can do another song?”
She nodded and swallowed a question in her eyes.
“I know what you want—you want Mr. Bublé, don’t you?”
Her tongue fell out and she panted.
He threw his head back and laughed at her antics. She had a major crush on the singer. “How about some ‘Jingle Bells’?”
She nodded and rubbed her nose against his shoulder like a cat.
“Knock it off.” He playfully shoved her away. “I know who you really love.”
She chortled and moved to the perimeter.
“Hang on—it’s not that easy this time.” He moved his pack so it would be in her way as she circled.
She pawed at it and then scooped down with her antlers and tossed it away.
“Hey!” He retrieved it, grateful she hadn’t thrown it in a tree. “Do it for Michael, Snowflake. Picture him singing just to you.”
She licked her lips and lined up at the starting spot.For the darling Mr. Bublé.
“I’m trying not to be insulted.”
She lifted a hoof and kicked the top layer of snow.Don’t care if you are.
He hit play, and the song started. She turned one ear toward his phone as she did the reindeer equivalent of a shoulder bob to the beat. “Giddyap,” he called.
She started out not quite up to the beat, but she figured it out soon enough. Forest sang along under his breath. The first two times around, Snowflake had trouble with the bag. She didn’t want to clear it, like she was afraid to jump too high. He’d have to work on that. Jumping should be as easy as Christmas pie for her.
They wereover the fieldswhen Forest spied Billy hiding behind a tree that was skinnier than he was. He made and held eye contact. With one arm in a sling and one hand on the lead rope, he ended up jerking his head to tell Billy to come over.
