The Legend of Winston the Whitetail Deer

Somewhere north of Kosciusko, Mississippi along the Natchez Trace Parkway, two deer grazed in a frosty, moonlit field.  The smaller of the two bucks lifted his head and said, “Bubba John, you ever wanted to be something more than you are now?”

Bubba John just kept munching his grass without an answer.

“Seriously, have you ever wanted to be more than just a deer?”

Bubba John stopped and looked at the smaller buck, “Winston, we are deer. We’re born. We grow. We eat. We mate. We end up as a hat rack and sausage.”

Winston sighed. He knew he was supposed to be more than just a deer — He had the gift of self awareness. Of course, most days it seemed more like a curse.  Tonight was one of them.

“You know Winston, you probably ought to stop all this crazy babble.  The other deer are making fun of you.  I’m your brother. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“You’re just embarrassed.” Winston told his brother.

“Well — and that, too.”

And just then, a meteor screamed above the field and flew into the nearby trees.  CRASH!!!

Both deer scrambled and then paused. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it completely intrigued the deer.  Bubba John and Winston ran over toward the glowing woods.  What they saw would change Christmas forever.

There, in a wrecked heap were eight unconscious reindeer, a crumpled sleigh and a moaning man lying on his back in a pile of pine straw.

“Son of a doe!” Bubba John shouted. He and Winston walked over to the man and Winston nudged him with his nose.  His cold, wet nose woke the fat man up.

“Stop it Rudolph. Stop it.” Santa began to groggily squirm. “Rudolph. Er…. You’re not Rudolph. He’s back home. What happened?!?”

The two deer looked at the fat man as he tried to sit up. “MY SLEIGH! MY TEAM!”  Santa saw the the reindeer casualties and yelled. Bubba John, spooked by the man, ran into the nearby brush.  But not Winston. He just stood there looking Santa.

“Why hello there my friend,” Santa said. “And what’s your name?”

Winston just stared at him.

“I can understand you.  I’m magic, remember?”

“My name is Winston.  I live here.”

Santa brushed his pants off and walked over to the reindeer. Pancer, Dancer and Vixen began to stir.  Soon all the reindeer were on their feet — All except Cupid.  Santa turned his attention to the crumpled sleigh.  “Can you help me?” he said to Winston.

Winston lowered his head and walked over to the sleigh.  Santa tied a rope around his neck, patted him on the hind quarters and said.  “Pull my little friend. I’ll push.”

Three tugs and the sleigh was righted.

Santa gathered up the scattered toys and carefully loaded them back in the giant brown sack.  “What happened?” Winston inquired.

“Comet became airsick.  He threw up over New Orleans. Actually,  he threw up ALL over New Orleans. I suspect he ate some bad reindeer food.  He got weaker as we headed north.  By the time we hit Jackson, we started losing altitude.  Where are we anyway?”

“Kosciusko,” Winston said.  He had heard the two cyclists mention the name a couple of days ago as they peddled up the Trace.

“Ah. Guess I’m going to have to figure out how we can get out of this mess. I can’t fly with seven reindeer,” Santa said with concern in his voice. Comet threw up again and just moaned.

“Comet rhymes with Vomit!” Donner and Vixen laughed.

Comet was mad at his friends’  joke but was too weak to protest.

Santa got an idea.  He paused, rubbed his chin and then smiled. “Winston, how are you at flying?”

Winston’s eyes lit up.  But then immediately the light went out and his head dropped.  “Never done it, sir.”

“Have you ever thought you can be more than you are right now?” Santa said.

Winston’s eyes lit back up. “Yes sir.”

“You put in the effort, I’ll provide the magic.

Santa hooked back up the team and slipped a harness around Winston’s neck.  Santa walked over to the brush and said, “Bubba John, take care of Comet. I’ll be back to get him as soon as he’s well. Make sure he doesn’t end up as a hat rack and sausage.  Take care of yourself, little buddy.” Santa patted Comet on his aching head.

Comet vomited one more time.

Santa hopped in the sleigh, put on his goggles and picked up the reins. He took out a small bag and sprinkled magical golden dust on Winston.  Seven reindeer and one whitetail deer then pulled Santa’s sleigh up into the cold Mississippi night.

They took two laps around the field and then headed north. And on that Christmas Eve, Winston the Mississippi deer became more than just a deer. He became a legend.