Getting a leg up on Christmas

Non-hunting enthusiasts may, at first, have difficulty relating to this topic when they discover that, instead of waving a wand to instill some magic into my children’s holiday, I once had my husband use a deer leg to stamp mysterious hoof prints into the snow. Understand, please, that I am one of you. I sob when that frail one-eyed kitten reaches through the bars on my television screen while Celine Dion sings a fresh wave of angst into my heart. Every year, for the past twenty-five years,  when my husband Brad “harvests” (When is the last time, by the way, that Disney produced an animated film about an orphaned string bean left to fend for himself in the rugged outdoors after his mother is gunned down by ruthless hunters? “Run Canned-Beans! Run!”) a deer, I dutifully document the occasion, instilling my own brand of justice by routinely decapitating Brad’s head (and sadly and somewhat ironically, the deer’s) because my eyes are shut. I am incapable of facing fresh meat.  It must be packaged, frozen and then thawed before I will even consider cooking it. That being said, however, I will turn hypocrite in the wink of an eye and a nod of a head when cynical school children and a diabolical home-schooler, bent on crushing the hopes and dreams of my daughters, decide to instill their wild-west brand of belief (or, in this case, non-belief) systems upon my girls. 

Everyone must eventually face doubt; in fact, this refining process often serves to strengthen our faith. However, I would not abide the idea of some mean-spirited mini monsters stripping my children of the fun associated with our family traditions. How to confront this problem? Lengthy explanations would not help. This called for some serious action. Naturally, I grabbed the glitter.  After adding some sparkle to the snow, I stole some carrots from our guinea pigs and threw them outside as well (The carrots, not the guinea pigs…remember, I heart animals.).  It was a lackluster display that even a preschooler could see through. I needed more…but what?  And then in a twinkling, what did I hear but Brad in the basement butchering his deer. More rapid than eagles, down cellar steps I sped, calling out to my husband to “Quick, grab a leg!” Without even questioning me, which should tell you something about Brad, he carefully stamped dainty hoof prints across our lawn, pausing beside the nibbled carrot stumps before suddenly and magically disappearing.  The next morning was met with clapped hands, gasps of surprise and delight, and a renewed sense of wonder. Despite the cruel world’s best efforts, we had managed to delay reality a bit by welcoming flying reindeer for a while.