I prefer to celebrate Christmas on Santa's good boy list, while knowing who and where the bad girls on the list are. This year, I began the day on the good list and ended on the bad. How do you tell Santa you're sorry?
As a rule of thumb I dislike taxidermy that hasn't been dispatched by the family displaying it. However, if you've gone to all the trouble and want a trophy go for it. In my case, I can't and there's my story.
After too much Christmas eve cheer, Mrs. T and I arose at 4:30 AM Christmas morning to get my daughter to the airport in time for her 6 AM flight home. The drive was sad, but otherwise uneventful, until when almost home, we met up with Santa returning to the North Pole. He was as surprised to see us as we him, until I put a fender upside the backside of one of Santa's famous hitch.
Mayberry's roadsides are littered with the detritus of mangled cars who've died while battling our giant deer population. Likewise there is steady work for the dead animal removal guy. We were fortunate that only the car was damaged (barely), Dasher (fatally) and us, not at all. We drove home with a few new dents and a cracked headlight.
After a brief nap I wanted to return to the scene and field dress the beast to be able to mount the head but Mrs. T intervened. She warned the sight of me field dressing one of Santa's team while families passed on their way to church would be shocking, and that having Santa finding Dasher, mounted above the stockings hung with care annually, would jeopardize the whole family's haul.
I trust your holiday was safer.
Happy Birthday Dad