The next day, Ludwig went to the forest to look for a big Christmas tree that would fit into his barn nicely without looking too small. He and Anton had decided to have Christmas there, because it was big enough to hold most of the village. Another advantage was that they could hide the celebration from the village children and convince them that the Christkind — baby Jesus — brought their presents to Ludwig’s barn on that particular Christmas.
Gary trotted next to him, staring at the slightly frozen grass.
“Why is there no snow?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Gary. I’m not a meteorologist.”
“What’s a Meteorologist?”
“Someone who predicts the weather, though they are usually wrong.”
“Why do they not hire people who can predict the weather correctly?” the goat asked.
“Beats me, Gary. Beats me…”
Eventually they found a suitable tree: a Douglas fir, dark and thick and easily six metres high. Ludwig reckoned that would fit perfectly in the barn, but when he reached into his pockets, he realised he had forgotten the tape he wanted to mark the tree with and cursed.
Gary looked at him, said that there was no problem, and went ahead to pee on the tree.