Air Traffic Control

The herd was alone. Their leader had gone off to eat his beetroot.

“The old boy’s past it,” Cupid whispered, “and because of all
that beetroot he eats to keep his nose bright red, his farts are
becoming notorious.”

“Well you don’t have to follow him, my nose is right behind his
bum.” Said Dasher.

Blitzen stood up on his hind legs.

“Oh gawd here we go another announcement.” grumbled Dasher.

“Look Guys after that kerfuffle last year with Air Traffic Control when they couldn’t tell if we
were coming or going they told us to have a white nose in front and a red nose behind.
So.” He said with a smirk, ”he’s going to have to sit in the rear, facing backwards.”

“Mrs Clause, the boss, won’t like that!” Vixen said.

The herd groaned with the prospect of having to challenge Santa’s
wife.

They all agreed in the end that, despite Mrs Clause’s protestations,
the Air Traffic Control would have to be obeyed, or Santa’s licence
would be given to Amazon and where’s the magic in that!

So on Christmas Eve in future, it became that Dasher, who had been forcibly fed copious amounts of cauliflower, to make his nose shine like the brightest star in the heavens, would lead.

And, well, Rudolph sat upright on the back seat facing backwards.

by Keith Windsor