Little Sam and the Best Christmas
Invention Story Ever

(NOTE: This year our family did a Zero budget Christmas.  So instead of buying the kids presents, I worked on this story.  They didn't get the final draft until just before Twelfth Night.  I put out the first part for Christmas Eve, as a kind of peace offering.  But it was a busy Christmas season --despite the absence of shopping and wrapping-- and I had to steal time here and there every chance I could get to make it come together.  Little Sam and Ricky and Gramps and Slim are characters I created back when we were doing Writer Guys shows.  I was inspired by old time radio westerns as well as Roy Rogers movies.  We even sang a theme song to go with the show.  Probably the only song I ever wrote.  It is all of about 35 seconds long, and very repetitive. I should make my way to Apple Studios to record a copy of it for posterity.  Maybe I can get Ringo to do a drum solo.  Anyway, end of intro.  Here is the 2013 Christmas story.)

Part One

            Ricky slipped out of his room and down the back stairs as quietly as possible. He’d overslept and was late getting started with his prayers.  He knew Gramps would be upset, if he found out.  Halfway down the stairs, he heard Gramps talking in the kitchen and paused –hoping not to be noticed.  Gramps was talking to Slim about something to do with bill collectors and the price of feed.  Ricky stepped cautiously down one stair to the next.  He was almost to the bottom where the steps go past the kitchen window and he hunched as low as he could and tried to slither down the last few steps out of sight.  As he did, one of his pockets snagged on a loose nail and there was a sudden rip.

            “Land of tarnation, what was that?” Gramps looked toward the window. Then back at Slim who was shoving an entire piece of blackberry jam toast into his mouth.

            Slim shook his head, unable to respond.

“Thought I heard something on the back stairs.”

Slim shook his head again, eyes wide and utterly blank with ignorance.

“All I can say is, don’t go spending any more –period.  That means Christmas too.  Nothing.  Zero. Not a penny.”

Slim made a sound like he was trying to argue and swallow at the same time.

“Don’t argue with me. We are broke.  In fact, there won’t be no Christmas this year.”

Slim made another sputtering coughing sound, as if he had something to say but couldn’t get it out.  To which Gramps replied,

  “By gum, we’ll be lucky if we have enough dirt to knock off our boot heels come New Years. Last thing we needed is one more mouth to feed ‘round these parts!”

Ricky waited, pressing his ear up to the window. Surely Slim would say something reassuring. Gramps was always going overboard about budgets and money and bills.  But there was nothing.  He peered in and saw Gramps’s wiping toast crumbs and blackberry jam off his glasses and shirtfront. 

And Slim was nowhere in sight.  

Ricky unhooked himself and quietly slipped off the porch.

It was a long walk to the barn. Thinking about no Christmas and no presents, he wondered how he was going to break the news to all the animals.  They would be sorely disappointed.  But something else was bothering him.  In the short icy wlak from the house to the barn he did a heap of pondering on what Gramps said about “…one more mouth to feed.”  Then it occurred to him –he was the newest mouth to feed at the ranch.  It must be him. He was the one that was ruining Christmas for everyone. But… he didn’t mean to.  It wasn’t like… But, maybe it was him.  It must be.  He’d been hinting to Gramps about wanting a new bicycle. And how many times had he asked Slim about getting a Christmas tree? And candy for their stockings and … But, he didn’t mean to ruin Christmas. What could he do? How could he fix everything? Maybe it would all just be better if he wasn’t there at all.  If he just went away.  But then everyone would worry.  Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d be glad if he just left. One less mouth to feed.  What should he do?

He stopped in his tracks. And looked around. Where was the barn? Without thinking, he had walked out to the road to the pasture.  What am I doing? He thought.  I gotta feed the animals. Do my chores. Maybe talking to the animals will cheer me up. It usually does. And then after lunch I can run away… if I still need to.  And if I’m going to run away, I will probably need some advice on the best way to do it.  And where do I always get the best advice?  Little Sam. If anybody can help me, it’ll be him.   Little Sam was a pony, but he was different. He had a brain. Little Sam was a pony, and he surely was different –he had a brain. And if anybody could figure this out, it would be Sam.

Ricky opened the barn door, expecting to see all his animal friends looking at him expectantly, happy to see him.  But all he saw was Sam very busy at work.  The barn was dim and shadowy, except for the bare bulb dangling over Sam’s stall. 

Ricky glanced around. He didn’t see anybody –no sheep. No calves. No cow. No muskrats scurrying. Not even a brood of hens waiting for him to spread out some feed. Just Sam busy at work; building something.  Sam was always building something or reading something. For a pony, he sure was different.

“Morning, Ricky!” He called, “Running a little late this morning, aren’t you?”

The boy glanced down at the dirt and bits of straw beneath his boots. “Yeah.  I overslept.  Sorry. I guess I’m just not very good at this ranch stuff.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.  Just takes a little getting used to. That’s all.”

Ricky stepped onto the bottom rail of Sam‘s stall, threw a leg over the top post and hopped up and sat there watching Sam for a couple of minutes.  The horse inserted a cathode tube into a slot and nuzzled a couple of knobs, then stepped back to evaluate his work. 

“Sam, can I talk to you?”

“Sure Rick…” Sam whinnied, then grabbed a wrench out of an old wooden toolbox.  “What’s on your mind?” he huffed through his clenched teeth as he tightened a bolt. 

Whatever it was that Sam was working on, it looked kind of like a large phone booth decorated with Christmas lights and stuck in the middle of the barn.  And it was plugged into an extension cord hooked up to the only electrical outlet in the barn –the dangling light that hung over Sam’s stall. Sam paused from his work, nudged a knob, then turned another bolt a couple of twists. Ricky watched in silence for a bit longer, then asked:

 “Sam… Am I a… burden?”

The horse looked up, wrench still in his teeth and looked at the boy quizzically. “What makes you ask that?”

Ricky hemmed and hawed for a bit, then explained how he’d overslept and was sneaking down the stairs and what he’d heard and how he was even wondering if Gramps and Slim and everybody would be better off if he’d never even come here. How he was just one more mouth to feed and how he was spoiling Christmas for everyone… it seemed.

“Ricky, you know Gramps likes to complain.”

“I know…  but…”

 Sam twisted one more bolt and then sighed with satisfaction, “I think that’s it.”

“But what is it?” Ricky asked.

“It’s my latest invention. I call it Clarence.”

Ricky sighed and looked down and a tear fell plop on the toe of his boot.

Sam stepped over the tools and bit a Kleenex out of his box and handed it to his little friend.

  “It’s kind of like a time machine.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In fact, I got the idea from this Jimmy Stewart movie I saw last week at the Bijou; It’s A Wonderful Life.  It’s about a man who begins to think everybody would be better off if he’d never been born.  So, I invented a machine to show you what the world would be like if you were never born.”

“But how does it work?”

“I haven’t got that part quite figured out yet.  My math get a little fuzzy right around here.” Sam pointed to a space just above the contraption.  Then he picked up an old worn out looking slide rule and showed Ricky what he meant. 

“But it does work,” he added. “I’m pretty darned certain of that. I think. Want to try it out?”

            Ricky looked at the strange contraption.  It didn’t look too dangerous.  He hopped down from the post and said,“Yes. Yes, I do,” then walked right into the machine. 

            There was a sound from the hayloft.  Herminie peered over the edge, “Sam, are you sure that’s safe?”

“Pretty sure,” he reassured her.

And Vladimir waddled across the beam overhead, “Of coursingk it is for to be safe. Because horseykins cannot be for to makingk anything which is to be for workingk, ever. Is that not to be right, horseykins?” And he snickered.

“Don’t listen to them, Ricky. All you have to do is throw that switch, there,” Sam told him. “Let it warm up a minute and then push the green button.”

            Ricky threw the switch and the tubes began to hum and the lights began to glow. 

            “Now, push that button.” Sam said.

He did.  And waited.  There was a slight whiiish noise from the tubes and then a bulb popped in the string of lights and the string went out and then… nothing. Nothing else at all.

Ricky peeped out of the Clarence to look at Sam.

“Feel anything? Anything different?” Sam asked him.

“No. Not really.  Like what?”

“Oh dear. Nothing?  That’s very strange.  I would have thought…”

“What? Is something wrong? Do we need to try again?”

“No. No. Don’t do that.  Maybe it’s the machine. There could be a glitch in the wiring.  Let me see. No. That looks right. The decibels connected to the cantilevers… that’s right…  but maybe I mixed up the positives ions with the wavelengths.  No. That’s right.  Oh dear.”

“Did I messed it all up?  I can’t seem to do anything right.”

“No. No. Not that.  Don’t say that, little buddy.  Oh, dear.”

“What…?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything looks like it worked.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look at the slide rule.” Sam held it out to Ricky again.

“But nothing happened.”

“Dear, dear, dear.” Sam paused as he gazed from the machine to Ricky back to the slide rule. “I just would’ve thought… Hmmm… if you were never born… Seems like something would’ve changed…. Must be some kind of statistical anomaly. That’s my best guess.”

“What does that mean?” Ricky asked. 

But, Sam was looking at his slide rule again and scratching his head with his hoof. “The wavelength defibrillator, defibrillated and the ion agitator agitated…”

“What’s the matter horseykins? Your toy is broked?”

“No.  That’s the problem.” He sniffed and shook his head. “Oh well, I guess that just goes to show you.”

Ricky was done waiting. He walked to the stall rail and stepped up.

“But… kind of makes you feel…”

Climbing over the top rail, he looked back at Sam, “Yeah.  Doesn’t it…”

Herminie looked down from the hayloft. “Don’t worry kid.  Maybe it’s something we can’t see.”

Ricky paused near the barn door. “You mean, like in China or something?”

Sam added, “Or just something in the town. The way people act.”

“Like in the movie,” Herminie added.

“Yes,” Sam nodded. “The same people were still there, but they were different.”

The cow called back, “Like the bartender? And the cab driver?”

“And the librarian!”

They all chimed in simultaneously, “She’s at the library!”

“I’ll keep my eyes open, Sam. Maybe something has changed. But I doubt it. Just goes to show you.”

“Wait, Ricky!” Sam called but the barn door closed and the boy was gone.  Then, the pony with the brain turned to look at his invention and suddenly realized how hungry he was.  He turned to his trough to grab a mouthful of oats and realized –it was empty. 

A gaggle of hens peered down from the hayloft.

“Hey… where’s breakfast?”

Part B

Ricky buttoned up his jacket and headed down the road past the pasture.  This was the quickest way to town.  He started in this direction curious to see if anything had changed far away because of Sam’s machine, but after about a half hour of walking he forgot about the machine and began thinking about how he could help out at the ranch.  First thing he could do was run away from home and then Gramps wouldn’t have another mouth to feed, like he’d said.  But the next thing he could do was run away from home, get kidnapped by gypsies, save the entire caravan from a horrible fire, get elected king of the gypsies and then learn how to cheat people out of their money by selling patent medicines while beautiful women played violins and bears danced and then he would take all of that money and invest it in hot air balloons and cotton candy and shoe strings.  Then when he was the richest man in the world, he would come back and buy Gramps’s ranch and set all the animals free and put Little Sam in charge of the whole ranch and buy Slim some new glasses.  Then no one could say he was a burden.  He would show everyone! And save the ranch at the same time. Then maybe things would be different just because he was born.

About a mile beyond the pasture the road takes a wandering turn to avoid going through the hills.  Ricky had always found this slightly silly.  Why would anyone want to avoid the hills?  He liked them, though he wasn’t allowed to go up there by himself and since nobody had really had much time to take him, he hadn’t actually been up there yet –not really.  But, since maybe he’d never been born, he figured now was the time for a shorcut. He turned off the road and headed up what Gramps called, the piney hill.  On his way up he thought he would stop and tell some of the wild animals goodbye.  Now that he was about to join the circus and work as a ventriloquist’s dummy in the side show, he wouldn’t probably be seeing many of them again –unless they happened to be captured and stuffed and put on display (as examples of the wild animals of Texas).

            Around lunchtime he neared the top of the hill. Next to a downed tree, there was a hollow trunk strung up with a garland of cedar and holly with pinecones and bits of Spanish moss hung as ornaments. This looked like the entrance to Mrs. Rabbit’s domicile, as it had been described by some of the muskrats.  A couple of young rabbits were playing near the garland. Maybe he could ask their mother whether she’d noticed anything changing.  

            “Merry Christmas, fellas,” Ricky called. “Is your mama home?”

Hearing his voice, they stopped in their tracks, hopped into the air in fright, then scampered into the trunk and down a hole.

“Hey. Don’t be afraid.”

            But the only reply Ricky could hear was the latching tight of a door. That’s strange, he thought.  It was like they didn’t even recognize me.  Which they probably didn’t, since they’d never seen him before.  These were rather young rabbits who had actually never seen any humans before, but Ricky didn’t know that.

            Starting on his again, he noticed a skunk, wearing a wool cap and a muffler, gathering twigs rustling in the brush behind him.  Keeping his distance, Ricky called out, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Skunk.”

            The skunk sniffed sharply and muttered, “For some.” And kept working.

            “Something wrong?” Ricky paused –still keeping his distance.

“Something wrong? Human couldn’t smell a freeze coming if it bit him on the nose. Can’t think ahead. Never could. Problem with humans.” He piled the twigs together and began to bind them with a bit of twine.  “Freeze coming. Gotta get ready. Animals gotta work to get ready.  Not humans. Just like grasshoppers. Can’t plan ahead. When the freeze comes they just flip a switch. Not my way, flip switching bi-peds. Makes a critter half shamed to be a mammal.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you.  I’m just heading to town.  I’m taking the shortcut through the hills.”

“Town? Who goes to town on Christmas Eve, eve? Nonsense. That’s a human for you.  Come here. Hold this string. I’m trying to tie a knot.”

“Yes sir.” Ricky approached cautiously.  He knew better than to startle a skunk.  That was the one thing he’d learned from a lifetime of reading comic books and watching cartoons at the cowboy movies.  He squinched up his nose anticipating of what he might smell and put his finger on the knot.

“Anybody with sense would be gathering sticks.  You got any sense boy?”

“I don’t know,” Ricky sighed. “I’m not sure.”

“Humans? How can you not know if you got any sense or not? What’s a’matter with you, boy?”

“Well.. I got into this Clarence machine this morning and now I’m not sure if I was ever born. So I thought I’d go to town and see if anything had changed to find out if I was born or not. Like in that movie over at the Bijou.”

“Movies! More nonsense. I’m a radio man, myself. Ever tried folding laundrey in a dark balcony?  Danged hard to do, boy. Said it’s danged hard. And old lady Jenkins had the temerity to charge me for a second ticket!”

“I don’t understand.”

“For the linens, boy! For the linens!” The skunk wrapped a scrap of twine around a pile of twigs, but when he tried to tie a knot it all came undone and the sticks fell to the ground. “Too much work to do. Sticks to gather. Freeze is coming.” The skunk re-gathered the sticks and wrapped another piece of twine around them and pointed to where he needed Ricky’s finger. “What’s that? How do you mean –never born?”

“See this machine –it’s called Clarence…”

“What’s that you say? Clarence?  I like that.  Good name for a machine.  Clarnence. Sounds dependable. More machines should be named Clarence.  The way I see it, can’t trust ‘em if they aint got a name you can trust. That’s the problem with tractors. Can’t trust ‘em. Ever met anyone named Tractor that you could trust?”

“No sir.”

“See what I mean? Way I see it… Put your finger there.  What do you mean you were never born!  If you were never born, how could you hold my string for me? That’s just nonsense. Humans.  Always inventing something. I tell you, inventing is a sure sign of laziness. Who needs a button to push when you can gather sticks? Makes a feller shamed to be a mammal, sometimes.”

“But…” Ricky started to explain that it wasn’t invented by a human, then decided if he wasn’t born why should he bother arguing.

“Say one thing, boy. Way I see it… this Clarence of yours. Might be something to it.  I sure don’t recognize you. Never seen your face. Might as well not ‘ve been born –far as I can say. Except for that finger of yours.”

They worked like this for quite a while.  The skunk & Ricky gathering twigs and binding them. It must have been after lunch before they finished, because Ricky noticed he was getting hungry.  After binding up three more bundles, Ricky bid him, “Merry Christmas!”

To which the skunk replied, “Might as well.”  

And the boy began his way up the hill, again.

STAVE the third

Near the top of the hill the pines became denser and formed what the smaller animals called “the great piney woods.” It was really just a small grove of maybe thirty or so trees.  But to a field mouse or a muskrat, a wayward sheep or even a small boy fresh from the city –it looked like the forest primeval.

Ricky felt very tentative about entering this dark wood.  He looked back down the hill, past Mrs. Rabbit’s and down toward the pasture and he could just make out the barn and the ranch house below.  He gazed back at them the way a pirate must gaze at the Barbary Coast as his ship sets sail for distant seas, or the way a tight wire acrobat looks back at the safe harbor of his crow’s nest as he begins to slide out over the center ring.

But he knew this was the way; or at least he thought he knew; this was the way to town and only in town could he find out if anything had changed since maybe he wasn’t born now –cause it didn’t seem like anything had changed at the ranch. Barring that, maybe Mrs. Jenkins would let him watch the end of the movie and he could see for himself what should have changed if the Clarence was actually working –which, then again, maybe it was –according to Mr. Skunk. This was sure a confusing Christmas, if nothing else.

About ten yards into the woods, he already felt lost.  The shadows of the taller pines dropped the temperature a degree or two and now he was starting to worry about what Mr. Skunk said and what might happen to him if he got lost in these here woods and suddenly found himself eaten up by frost bight and desperate straits –not the least of which might be having to chew his own leg off to escape from a bear trap and then hobble back down to the ranch with his chewed off leg packed in ice (to see if it could be reattached).  But just as he was about to panic, he heard a raspy voice call out, “Beg your pardon, boy. Hey, you, Andy Hardy. Excuse me, Alfalfa? Sprout? Bell boy? Red cap? Porter! Half-pint? Full pint? Make it a quart!”

It was a black bear in a red vest, bow tie, and a derby hat and he was standing at the edge of the woods with a large suitcase in each paw, a bedroll under one arm and a tattered ESSO road map spilling out from under the other. 

“I’m sorry. Are you talking to me?” Ricky was puzzled.

 “I say, sonny…” He called again, “You the fella in charge of luggage? Where do I check in?  Who’s the maitre’d around here? I’d like some service.  I’ve got reservations.  Especially now that I see the place.”

 “You must be confused.  I don’t work here. I’m just…”

“Catch your drift, son. Never did care for the old Horatio Algernon routine myself.  Hold this.” He held out a large suitcase. “My poor father once told me…He said, son, called me son despite the ramificiations; He said, son: Never take a job that requires effort or dependability –you never know when they might become habit forming.  Here, take my portmanteau.”  He set down the other bag and settled atop it with the map spread across his lap.

“But you don’t understand. I was just walking through…”

“Trouble with this country, son, is too much specialization.  Take me, for instance. I can walk and carry bags at the same time. Can’t read a map for the life of me. Must have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Got a compass?”

Ricky shook his head.

“Should be one in that bag, son. Open it for me.”

Ricky unstrapped one of the belts around the bag and it burst open  --an impressive collection of Roadway Inn towels and bathrobes spilling forth.

“That’s subterfuge, and I won’t stand for it!” He tossed his map in the air and tried to gather up his gleanings.

Just then, a strong northerly gust caught the towels and robes and rushed them along through the leaves. Ricky grabbed a bathrobe, then stuck his foot on a towel, knelt on another one and reached for a third, “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I just was on my way to town to find out…”

“Stand up, son. Seeing you splayed like that reminds me of the time I hunting for salmon when I was suddenly attacked unawares by a giant freshwater Pacific Northwestern tree squid.  Ever see a giant freshwater Pacific Northwestern tree squid, son? No? Well, that’s good. Good. Let me tell you about it. It’s nature’s perfect appetite on legs. Eats anything that moves, including large boulders and the rare North American mountain rhinoceros. Ever see a mountain rhino, kid? Of course not. Their extinct –because of the ambidextrous appetite of the fresh water tree squid. It was a monstrous beast.  Twelve feet from stem to stern with four giant fangs –each as large as an Inuit obstetrician. Ever seen an Inuit obstetrician, kid?  It’s like a kayak without the seal skins! Regardless--freshwater tree squids are ambidextrous monsters. Never seen even a picture of one? No? Good. Well, as I was saying –this monster was 18 feet from stem to stern; uhm… 24 feet if he was even an inch.  Fold the towels before you put them back in the bag, boy. And make sure to fold the labels in. Now, listen, kid. I’m trying to tell you….” 

Ricky crammed the towels into the large bag and then tried to fold it closed and latch it shut. But the latch sprang again and a towel popped out. “But I don’t think…”

“Never went in much for it myself, son. As my father once said: Don’t ever let ignorance stand in your way, son. Lead on.”

Ricky glanced around in hopes of seeing the skunk, to ask for advice. But the few animals who had been scurrying this way and that earlier were all in hiding now. He grabbed up the case with both arms and hugged it to himself.

“Well, as I was saying. At the time of which I speak, I was tramping, I mean travelling through the frozen tundra of the great Northwest Rockies just off the Florida coast and stopped beside a river for an all-you-can eat salmon buffet. It was on the banks of the Monongahela just above the crest of Lake Eerie where it merges with the Missouri and the Ohio when out of the icy depths bounds a 30 foot tentacle that wraps around my fetlocks with both fangs…”

Another gust of wind came rushing across the hill and blew the bag out of Ricky’s hands. Hotel towels flew up into the air, catching in the branches, wrapping around tree trunks and the bear’s face.

“Godfrey Daniels! It’s an insidious trap! He’s got me!” The bear spun around –cashing into trees and branches. “Let go! You can’t eat me, I’m an endangered species! Take the kid. He’s just…” and Ricky followed, calling:

“Wait! It’s just a bathrobe. I’ve got the sash.”

Anxiously swinging his hat, the bear turned. Then, seeing Ricky holding the towel, he shuddered, and began pulling twigs from his vest and brushing himself off, “I see you’ve got a bit of the Alpine cephalopod in you? Well, don’t expect a tip!”

Ricky shrugged and glanced around. A few wisps of snow were now falling. He didn’t know what to do with the bear, but knew he couldn’t just leave him out here in the open. Looking down the hill where he thought he’d see the lights of the town he saw only a distant small barn with a line of Christmas lights encircling the upper window (like a wreath). 

“Are you the kind of bear that eats people or horses?” Ricky asked, hesitantly.

“Heaven forbid, you epicurean imbecile!  Don’t go in much for raw meat. Tends to give me the collywobbles! More of a blue plate special man, myself. Egg soufflé ala hollandaise, and a plate of doughnuts sans the glaze, buttered toast on manifold platters, or hold the toast –marmalade jam –blueberry if it matters. Consommé of ripe tomato, shimmering over a bowl of fried potato and hold the lettuce if you please! Steamed broccoli makes me sneeze! Never mind the Brussels sprouts, too many vegetables gives me gout! Or make it easy on yourself and my tummy. Just bring on a bowl of clover honey. That’s the way to feed this bear.  Note to self: snow begins to fill the air. We’d better be off. Where’s my map?” He looked about and saw a large scrap of paper fly up into the higher branches of a pine tree. Then shrugged his shoulders, “Who needs it! Just follow me.” And he wrapped a white towel around his neck like a scarf and started down the hill, waddling toward the distant lights.

“But do you know where you’re going?”

“Of course, I do. I have a nose like a compass!  Or was that a compass shaped like a nose? Note to self: check luggage for wooden nose?”

Ricky grabbed both suitcases and followed, “I think that’s the wrong way.” 

IV

With all the confusion and turning around on the hill, Ricky was a little concerned that he and his new friend were simply heading straight back down to the Rolling Bard Ranch.  And if that was true, he might never get to town and find out how the world was changed because he was never born. Still, he had to do something with the bear.  Perhaps the best thing to do, would be to take the bear back down and put him in the Clarence machine and then he wouldn’t be born either and then they could get a snack and both head to town. However, by the time they reached the bottom of the hill the snow was coming down quite a bit harder and the wind was blowing constantly. Now Ricky was glad they were heading in the wrong direction. He was just thinking about getting to the barn with Sam and the animals and out of the cold. He was even thinking how glad he would be to have his nice warm bed to sleep in tonight.

But coming down the hill he paused at the pasture fence.  He set the bags down and rubbed his eyes with his mittens. Everything looked slightly familiar, but not quite. For instance, the barn looked like a barn. But not quite like Gramps’s. It was in nicer shape. The walls were standing up straight and the doors weren’t hanging off the hinges and on top of that the windows looked like they were lit with electric lights.

The bear paused and looked back, “Don’t dilly-dally. No way to live your life. Note to self: next year for luggage carriers hire kangaroos.”

Suddenly Ricky realized, maybe this is what the world was like without him. Maybe Gramps had a better ranch and barn and was a changed man. And thinking this, he bolted suddenly toward the barn door, the bear calling after him something about reporting him to the union! But to no avail.

Ricky rushed to the barn door and pushed it open, calling, “Sam! Sam! I think it worked.  Sam! Where are you?”

A cow, and a bull, and a calf looked up at him in surprise. A couple of sheep stirred in another pen, and there was the startled clucking of hens from the roost.

The cow whispered, “Shssh. The baby is going to sleep.”

“No, I’m not, Mommy.” The calf whispered back.

“May I help you?” The bull asked.

“I’m looking for Sam. Little Sam, the pony with a brain.”

“I’m afraid you must have the wrong barn, then, boy,” the cow said. “You’re looking for the Rolling Bard Ranch.”

There was a clumsy sound and panting by the door and a suitcase spilled open at Ricky’s feet. The bull stepped forward with a snort and a scratching of his hoof against the dirt.

“Hold it right there, my bellicose bovine barnyard brethren!” the bear cried raising his suitcase for a shield. “We are but poor wanderers lost on this Yule-tide eve in search of nothing more than shelter and a warm tankard of nogg. Hold the nutmeg for knee-britches, here.”

“Uncle Emile!” cried the calf.

“Ho. Ho.” Bellowed the bull, “We thought you’d never arrive, you old scoundrel.”

“Ah, sweet mystery of genius. Had no idea the empty-headed child was such a prodigy. Feared he was leading me askance. Instead he performed a piece of pediatric prestidigitation –a seasonal presentation packed with pastoral pathos, if I do say so myself –and I did.”

After much explanation and a round robin of holiday greetings, Maurice, the bull, and Marilyn, the cow, paused to ask Emile (the bear) who his little friend was.

“He’s the consigliore of the hillside vestibule, I mean the maître ’de of the… or is it the bell-hop of the mountain top, consigliore of the canyon cap canteen?  I… well, in fact of actuality, I… Why, the little whippersnapper absconded with me luggage as I was scrutinizing the Sealtest road map by way of a riparian rest stop.  Just as you cried out, I was on the nonce of thrashing this larcenous Lompoc within an inch of his …”

Marilyn gigled, “Uncle Emile, you’re frightening the boy with all that talk of riparian Lompocs.  Excuse me, boy. Don’t be afraid. Uncle Emile is just an overstuffed belly full of bluff and big words.  We are all actually very friendly animals here.  What’s your name?”

Melissa, the calf, crept from her bed of hay and moved over to the barn door beside Ricky –the warmth of her breath felt comforting against his cheek.  He introduced himself and explained to the cow and bull that he’d not meant any harm.  He was really just trying to get to town to find out how the world had changed since he was maybe never really born if maybe the machine really was working but then there were these little rabbits that got scared and then there was this skunk that needed his fingers and then Uncle Emile had probably mistaken him for a waiter –but maybe that was because he had never been born and so he wasn’t really himself but someone else and maybe that person really was a waiter or something like that and how this really was supposed to be the Rolling Bard and how because he wasn’t born Gramps must have sold the ranch to them and probably Little Sam was working at the glue factory and all the other animals were either frozen dinner entrees or forced to work as roustabouts in a rodeo sideshow –all because he had never been born, but now he just wanted to go home.

Maurice looked at Marilyn and began to laugh a deep bellowing laugh. “This is that missing boy Miss Ellie was talking about. Don’t you move, boy. Stay put. Folks is looking for you.”

“Miss Ellie? Do you mean this is her place?”

“By golly, it sure is boy.” Maurice answered.

“Really?  Then, where is she?”

And all three cow-like creatures replied (almost simultaneously): “She’s at the library!”

“Really? –on Christmas eve?”

“Maybe.” Marilyn added, “She and Slim Tex went out looking for a young boy that was missing.  And I wonder if that boy might be you.”

“Oh no.  If I wasn’t ever born they probably won’t be able to find me.  I better get home quick!”

“If you weren’t ever born, then you might as well just stay here and have Christmas with us.” Melissa nudged him with her nose and licked his cheek. “But you taste like you probably were born.”

 A loud gust of wind rattled the door and knocked it open and a freezing wind blew in sending towels and bathrobes and blasts of snow flying everywhere. 

“Great galloping ghost of Aeolus!” Uncle Emile called and then laughed, “I guess the bag is out of the proverbial cat. Merry Christmas.”  

Maurice rushed to the door to swing it closed with his horns and as he did Ricky noticed he was wearing terry cloth pajamas that seemed to be made out of old hotel towels.  Ricky looked at the cow and noticed now that she was wearing a Paradise Inn bathrobe with a pink satin sash and had a complete set of Roadway Inn towels hanging from the posts and rails around her pen.

Marilyn and Maurice laughed and Maurice told Ricky he was going to have to spend the night with them but they would see about getting him home come morning. Nobody was getting out on a night like this –except maybe Santa Clause himself.  He showed Ricky to an empty pen where Uncle Emile was opening his other luggage and setting up house.

Marilyn asked if anyone was hungry.  She had a lovely plate of cookies, a batch of carrots and a bowl of roasted chestnuts in need of peeling. Plus was willing to heat up a little milk and mix up a batch of hot cocoa if anyone was interested.  Ricky was very interested.

She pointed out a bucket and a stool hanging on the wall and told him to come on over and get to work.  “But, warm your hands by the fire first,” she said.  “The last thing I need before bedtime is a handful of icy fingers.”

That was when they realized, the fire had gone out and they didn’t have any kindling left.  “Oh dear.” Maurice stomped a hoof. “I was supposed to gather kindling.  I forgot.”

“Without a fire we can’t warm up the milk and make hot cocoa,” Melissa whimpered.

Just then there was a shy knock at the door.  And a familiar voice called, “Hey! Anybody awake in there? I’m getting frost on my tail!”

Maurice rushed to the door and opened it. In came a skunk with a bundle of sticks.

 “Last stop.” He announced as he came in and dropped a bundle of twigs on the floor. “Merry Christmas my friends. Well, hey, Johnny! You got a lot of nerve following me here, you little whippersnapper.”

“I wasn’t following you.” Ricky stepped next to the terry cloth cow for safety.

Marilyn reassured the skunk, “This is Ricky. He’s a neighbor from over at the Rolling Bard. He was just up there helping Uncle Emile get unlost on his way to the barn.”

“I will say one thing, Johnny. You got a good finger. Knots held tight. Good knots makes for good bundles.”

Not long after that Maurice got a small fire kindled in the pot belly stove and Ricky warmed his hands and milk was heated and cookies were passed around and at Melissa’s bequest, everybody settled down for one last carol-- Silent Night.

And as they were singing and feeling warm from the cocoa and the cookies and the lovely smell of fresh hay and the soft moan of the wind and the gentle drifting of the snow, Ricky noticed that all of the sudden he wasn’t feeling so badly after all. There weren’t any presents and there wasn’t any big feast… but there was friendship and singing and kindness and cookies and hot cocoa and suddenly he realized maybe Christmas wasn’t just about all the great things people give you or the decorations and the trees with ornaments and lights and everything…maybe it was more about coming together to help one another. Like the shepherds and the wise men and the animals on the first Christmas so many years ago.

It was just about then that there was another sound from the door.  And a woman’s voice saying, “Shhh, They might be asleep.”

“Not in here.” Maurice bellowed joyfully. “Come on in. Merry Christmas, everyone.”

Through the door came Miss Ellie, Slim-Tex and Little Sam, followed by Gramps. 

“Consarn that bull-head pip-squeak of a whimpering side-winder city boy!” Gramps cursed as he came through the door, “Running away on Christmas Eve and then there’s this here four-legged accident inventing glue-factory dragging all over town searching for him on some kind of wild…”
            “Merry Christmas, Gramps!” Ricky dropped his cookie and ran to his grandfather and grabbed him around the waist. “Slim. It’s you!  And Little Sam. Sam, you were right. It worked. It was like I wasn’t ever born. Nobody recognized me and everything was different and…”

After the animals got settled for the night, and the humans went into the house for coffee, Sam tried to explain to Ricky that the toggle belt had been too loose and the molly-coddle never engaged, so the machine didn’t really work at all.

“But things were different, Sam. None of the animals didn’t recognize me and…”

“Maybe because they’d never met you before.”

Ricky looked at Sam like the horse was trying to pull his leg. And then said, “But I learned something. If I was never born the skunk wouldn’t have got his twigs bundled and if he didn’t get his twigs bundled then all the animals that needed them for kindling wouldn’t have gotten them and then when the snow came there wouldn’t have been no fires in their stoves to keep them warm and if there weren’t any fires in the stoves… then I wouldn’t have been able to milk a cow for the first time and if I hadn’t been able to milk a cow for the first time, then we wouldn’t be sipping this wonderful hot cocoa right this very minute and if we weren’t sipping this wonderful cocoa… then just maybe this wouldn’t be the best Christmas I ever had. Maybe. But it is. And that’s because of you and your machine. So I think your machine is the best Christmas machine ever, Sam.”

“Well, thanks little buddy.” Sam grinned and took a sip of cocoa. He looked at his little friend who said,

“You got a milk mustache!” And laughed very merrily, which is something we should all try to do at this time of year.

And just as I was about to end this story with a joyful Merry Christmas to all, I overheard Uncle Emile stir in his stall and whisper, “Skunk, you ever seen a 45 foot freshwater cantilevered Northwestern tree squid? It’s one of the most ambidextrous creatures on earth or in the deep! A malevolent monster if ever I saw one. I was down in the everglades ice fishing for halibut the first time I came across one…”