Papier-mâché reindeer delights with a wink and a smile

T’was the season of my 69th Christmas when I saw a reindeer made of papier-mâché, beautifully sculpted and painted a shimmering gold. He was so beautiful I couldn’t stop looking at him. He seemed to wink at me, I kid you not, and I just knew he wanted to come home with me. He was 3 feet tall from hoof to antler, and I had the perfect place for him at home.

I needed cheering up as I was alone this Christmas and knew he would keep me company. I bought one long string of tiny bells and circled them round his neck several times. Those bells, along with a regal red bow tied under his chin, made him look stately and proud, a splendiferous sight.

I placed him next to my black grand piano where I could see him as I played Christmas songs. He seemed to love every song I played. However, he did have a favorite. Whenever I played “Jingle Bells,” he would give me his special “wink” and jingle his bells. What fun we have! I feel appreciated and loved and want to give him a name. He is “real” to me and brings me great joy so I thought and thought, as hard as I could, to come up with a name that would suit him well.

I thought of all the names of Santa’s reindeer, but none were quite right for my elegant friend with all his personality and charm. He truly was magnificent, delightful and wise. The sight of him brought a smile to my eyes.

On occasion, when I would leave the house, I found myself missing him. I hoped he’d be there when I returned. A reindeer with his spunk and personality could do most anything. I pictured him fleeing to the woods, to the rivers and streams, playing in meadows and soaking up sunbeams. I hoped he would miss me as I would miss him, my beautiful, elegant and wise new friend.

My return trip home produced tension and fear – fear in my heart that he might not be there. As my keys entered the lock, my heart started pounding, my excitement was building, my hopes were abounding. A twist of the wrist and the door was soon opened and there, by my piano, stood my stalwart friend, happy to see me home again. I smiled at him – he winked at me. I called him by name and that’s just how it happened! His name spilled from my mouth and that’s when I knew I had found the right name for him, one that would do.

Meet John Johnny Jack, named after my Dad John, sometimes called Johnny and nicknamed Jack.