Yes, Rigby, There Is A Santa Claus

Not that I ever for a moment questioned it being a cold hard fact.  I need only look back on the years of Christmas presents Santa left me to confirm that he is in fact real.  This year, for instance, he brought me a stuffed gator and a cardboard box to destroy. 

 

Okay, maybe Santa didn’t bring me the box.  Maybe, just maybe, I stole it.  Maybe someone else’s present came in that box and I helped myself to the packaging when they weren’t looking (the shredded and drenched remains have been disposed of…there’s no way to prove anything anymore). 

But this post isn’t about the origins of a former box.  This post is about Santa.  Santa is real and he’s totally dedicated to making sure that good dogs who 

• Only cause a moderate level of chaos in their day-to-day life,
• Only destroy a certain number of shoes each year, and 
• Only bark when goaded by pedestrians, vehicles, animals, and imaginary beings passing by their house 

get all that they deserve no matter what it takes.

You see, apparently, after dropping off my presents underneath the tree at home, Santa must have discovered that one had been accidentally left behind in his sleigh (maybe it slid underneath his seat).  Santa must have already been well past my house when he discovered this, and since he had a lot of other stops to make that night, it must not have made sense for him to circle back just to drop off one single package.  But Santa didn’t want to disappoint me either, so he decided that he would leave my final present underneath the tree in the house out east.  And sure enough, that’s where I found it, nearly a week after Christmas:  A neatly wrapped package (which I promptly destroyed) housing a giant plush green pickle toy. 

But there was more than just a toy underneath the tree to prove that Santa had been to the house.  There were other clues as well. 

For instance, it appears that Santa might have misjudged his trajectory when he landed in the yard.  As soon as we arrived at the house, my family and I discovered that an entire panel of the backyard fence had been broken off from the rest and was lying flat on the ground.  When Pa propped it back up to keep me from wandering off through it and into the neighbor’s yard, he discovered that many of the boards had been snapped in two as if they had been stepped on. 

And what stepped on those boards?  Reindeer of course!  In fact, there were hoof-prints all over the backyard. 

Not to mention, there were skid marks in the grass from when Santa’s sleigh finally touched ground.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate what Santa did.  He didn’t have to swing by to drop off that nearly forgotten present.  But listening to my family debate whether or not they anticipate Santa having “sleigh insurance,” I can’t help but agree with the lyrics from an old Christmas song:  “They should never give a license, to a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves.”