The reindeer slowed above the Victorians on H Street in Eureka. “Whoa, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen,” he said, pulling the reins hard. “Easy does it, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen.”
Rudolf used the power of his bright red nose to sniff-out the best place for Santa to kick it, and motioned to a rather large Victorian – a painted lady with a wide, brick fireplace.
“Nice one, Rudy,” Santa said, turning toward the massive pile of red velvet bags, grabbing a sack of gifts, and easing his round frame out of the sled.
Once inside, Santa emptied the contents of the bag under the Christmas tree, glanced at the proverbial plate of fresh baked cookies and tall glass of milk sitting on the hearth, and sat down on an over-stuffed chair by the fireplace. A brightly colored tray decorated with his image sat on table.
“There I am, ho, ho, ho!” he whispered to the family dog, now cocking its head with curiosity of the big guy in the red suit. “Here’s a cookie for you,” he said, handing the dog a treat. “I’ve eaten enough cookies to last me a lifetime,” he laughed. “Ho, ho, ho!”
The tray held a small pair of scissors, with a mason jar of Humboldt’s finest bud. Nearby, Santa eyed a bong.
“Helloooo,” he smiled. “Ho, ho, ho… Just one taste shouldn’t hurt,” he said, winking at the pooch, now enjoying a second cookie.
Santa looked around, picked up the scissors, and began cutting up the bud. He leaned in and inhaled the fragrant aroma of freshly cut cannabis. “Nice,” he smiled, packing the bong.
After several bowls full, Santa felt pleased and relaxed and decided to let the reindeer outside rest a bit more.
Some time passed when he heard someone stirring from one of the upstairs bedrooms.
“Damn!” Santa said, sitting upright, but it was too late.
At the top of the stairs the patriarch of the family and owner of the tray leaned over the banister ledge, squinting in the dim light, unable to believe his eyes. Santa was pinching his stash!
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa said to the owner of the finest bud Santa ever had the pleasure of enjoying. He really wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to say, but didn’t think it could hurt the situation any.
“Well, ho, ho to you too,” the man said, making his way down the stairs, sidling up to Santa who had just loaded the bong with yet another helping. “Looks like you are making yourself at home,” he added looking at the pile of gifts under the tree. “Thanks for the swag, Santa. I suppose some nice Humboldt bud is the least I can do. Mind if I join you?”
“Oh, yes, please do,” Santa responded, handing the bong over to its rightful owner. “What do you call this maker of magic?”
“It’s called ‘Trainwreck,’ better take it easy, Santa,” the man said. “It has an incredible amount of THC.”
“Is this indoor?” Santa inquired.
“Outdoor, organic, actually,” the man responded, surprised at Santa’s level of knowledge.
“Excellent,” Santa said. “Last year Rudolf’s nose took me to a house in McKinleyvile, and I swear there was mold in it - made me feel just awful until I could get over to India for a dose of herbal tummy tea. But, that’s another story. Santa could feel himself trailing in the conversation. He tended to get a bit chatty when stoned – something Mrs. Clause wouldn’t let him forget.
The two men sat and passed the bong back and forth a while, until Santa heard the faint sound of restless reindeers.
“Well, this sure has been a pleasure,” Santa said getting up out of the chair with some effort. Mind if I take a rolled one for the road?
“Not at all, Santa,” the man smiled, rolling him a fatty. “Safe trip!” he called to him, watching out the window as the sled lifted up and off into the Humboldt sky. He could hear Santa singing, “Merry Christmas Humboldt, and to all a good night.”