Merry Christmas to all. But is it? Someone isn’t happy these days it appears. And if that someone has his way, Christmas will be very different this year.

The reindeer is pissed, all right? Donner has had enough, and he’s not keeping quiet anymore. You don’t believe me? Call him. He takes interviews these days. He’s that ticked.

“I’m sick of this crap,” the furry behemoth said to me in a bar yesterday. His antlers quivered as he shook with anger, and I could see the fire in his eyes.

I didn’t want to tick the reindeer off any further, but the attitude perplexed me. Reindeer? Hate Christmas? How can this be? The whole notion seemed ridiculous. Carefully, I voiced my confusion to the large furry beast.

Donner slammed his glass of brandy down. Shaking the table as his hoof crashed onto the table with irritation, he began to outline all that was wrong for Christmas for him and his fellow…reindeer.

“You think it’s all fun and games, don’t you,” he accused me. He snorted, his nostrils flaring. “Christmas sucks for us. Think about it. THINK about it. While everyone around the world is receiving Christmas cheer, we’re carting Santa’s fat ass around in a freakin’ wooden sleigh! It’s horrible! On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, on Vixen? The guy’s a slave driver! The only ones that has it worse than us are the elves!”

I blankly blinked back at the reindeer, not knowing what to say. In all the interviews that I’ve done, this was quickly turning into the most difficult. What do you say to a disgruntled employee working for the jolliest many in the whole wide world? My mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Shocked, aren’t you.” The reindeer read me perfectly. “Think about it from my point of view for a minute. I’m getting old. I’m not the young buck that I once was. I want to retire. Graze in pastures. Eat carrots. Start a family. But I’m trapped. Santa knows we’re not happy, he just doesn’t care,” Donner said, finally beginning to calm down.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Little Saint Nick? Hardly. There’s no consideration anymore. Santa used to keep himself in shape, but things are out of hand now. He’s pushing four hundred pounds, yet he’s still pounding the milk and cookies and eggnog. Every year the sleigh gets heavier. Every year the reindeer get a little older. I don’t know how many more Christmases we can pull off before something changes. I love tradition as much as the next deer, but I just don’t know how much longer I can do this anymore,” Donner said. I tear rolled down his dark furry face, and my heart broke for him.

I bought another brandy for Donner, and I listened intently as he went on. “There’s two sides to every story, right?” he asked me.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. My mind was blank. The tales of a reindeer were much sadder than I ever had an anticipated.

“That’s my side,” Donner said. His antlers swung down as he rested his head on a hoof.

“What if the reindeers unionize?” I asked. If it worked in corporate America, why not at the North Pole, I reasoned.

“We’ve tried!” Donner cried out. “There were so many problems. There’s dissension among the reindeer, too. No one wants to be the leader; everyone is the follower. Think about it – think about the names: Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Cupid. They don’t strike fear in the hearts of many. Even the names are girly. The fact of the matter is, Santa’s got most of the other reindeer right under his fat thumb. As soon as Santa raised his voice, they cowered.”

I brainstorm came to my mind, or so I thought. “Where does Rudolph stand on all of this?” I asked. I figured if there was a leader among the reindeer, he had to be the one.

“Rudolph is a damned joke,” Donner spit. “Do you remember the story? We wouldn’t let him join in any reindeer games? The dude is horrific. Totally uncoordinated. He’s useless. No one respects him. To make matters worse, Santa gave him a shot on that one Christmas, and they made that stupid song and then the stupid movie about him. Totally went to his head! He thought he was the best! That’s the one and only Christmas he was in on the work. He’s too weak to actually pull anything. He gets no props up here from the other reindeer. He just loafs around all day, with that damn thing glowing red. Lazy piece of…”

That ruled that out. “Donner, then it has to be you,” I said. “You have to make the difference up there.”

He smiled a reindeer smile, if there is such a thing. “I can give it a try,” he said. “And talk to Santa. If I had my way, Santa would be flying a Huey every Christmas. It’s about time he got with the times.”

“You should,” I said. “It is the giving season. Work out a compromise.”

Such is life for a reindeer.