In the end, Gala could only sit back and wonder where it all went wrong.

That was being a bit dramatic and she knew it. She also knew what the problem was if she was being brutally honest with herself. The long and short of it was that she was undesirable to any of the local bulls. If it was not for her unseeing eyes, it was for her pure white coat. Bad luck, the other caribou called it. Gala could only agree with the sentiment in so much that another mating season was about to come and go without her finding a mate, despite her best efforts.

She was perched upon a knoll just at the edge of town, a small meadow stretching out below. Normally, it was a place for calves to romp and play, but now the grass was beginning to turn golden and crisp at the edges and the fallen leaves had been raked up into neat piles for any caribou to rest on.

It was also the place for the yearly bull wrestling displays, where bulls could flaunt their strength and cunning in hopes of impressing the cows, who were quiet observers of the games. Gala rather enjoyed bull wrestling. It was an interesting sport to listen to given the stamping of hooves and the clattering of locked antlers. The thud of a bull being thrown to the ground was always exciting, even if the jeering and raucous laughter made it difficult for her to discern the winner from the loser.

After this year’s bouts had concluded and the bulls had been ready to finally, finally canter over to the waiting cows, Gala settled into her carefully practiced recline, combing through her hair and feigning a lack of interest in a way that was elegant, yet casual; aloof yet approachable. Only she found herself completely passed by. Not a single one of what was sure to have been at least two dozen or so bulls had shown even the slightest bit of interest, preferring instead to flirt with the other cows.

Then the newly formed sweethearts had wandered off to get to know each other better, leaving Gala seated amongst the leaves, dressed in her best fur-trimmed coat, and weakly comforting herself with assurances that there was always next year.

Until there was a crunch of dry grass and leaves and the heavy weight of what was undoubtedly a bull leaned against her flank and threw an arm around her shoulders, pulling Gala more securely against him.

“What’s with the look, love? Doesn’t suit a pretty cow like you.”

His voice was deep and had a slight drawl she couldn’t place. He certainly wasn’t from around here.

“Pardon?” Her ears twitched, and he made a vague gesture with the arm resting about her shoulders.

“You know! Like when a calf misses out on the last sugar cube in the bowl.”

Gala could feel her fur bristling, her tail standing on end. A calf! This bull was comparing her to a pouting child?! Perhaps she was disappointed, but him calling attention to her displeasure was quite rude!

“I see.”

He must have heard it in her voice or noticed how bushy her tail had become. He pulled away some, his arm moving from her shoulders to rest lightly on her upper back.

“Somethin’ wrong?” There was a note of uncertainty in his voice, but if he was regretful for his words, he made no mention of it.

“Nothing,” Gala shrugged off his touch, even if it was warm, and stood, turning away from him and flicking her tail in a huff and – oh goodness, did she just cuff him about the face with her tail?? No matter. She was full of indignation and turned her chin up.

He seemed to recover quickly enough. “Wait! Hol’ up!” There was another crunch of leaves as he hurriedly stumbled to his feet and a muffled rattle of rummaging through saddlebags. Gala was paused in her retreat, tilting her head curiously as he moved to her side once again.

“Fer the lady.”

He was offering something to her. She reached up until she found his wrists and followed them down to the object held delicately in his hands. It was long and roughened with bark. She took the item from him, fingers wandering across its length and finding soft, little tufts of fluff.

“Oh!” She turned her head towards where she thought he was, “Pussy willow?”

“Ya like it?” A smile shaped his words.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like it – she did like it, very much so – but she was confused. Sudden almost inappropriate closeness, brash words, and small gifts? Why was he…

The realization rushed in all at once. He was courting her! Her, of all cows! Gala’s hearts began to race with something other than frustration.

And she didn’t even know her suitor’s name.

Clutching the pussy willow close to her breast, she took a breath and composed herself. “Courtesy,” she said softly, “That a bull should introduce himself to a lady.”

There was a moment of silence and she could only imagine him grinning from ear to ear.

“Blitzen. Delivery bull at yer service.”

Ah, delivery. No wonder she had never met him before. Delivery caribou traveled across the continent, taking themselves far from their places of birth.

“Gala,” she inclined her head slightly, “Of Knot Hill.”

“Gala,” he repeated delightedly and that arm had found its way around her shoulders again, almost as if it had belonged there, “Now then, love, shall we be gettin’ on with it then?”

Whether he meant mating or courting, Gala was unconcerned about the exact meaning of his words. This was her first suitor and she only wished to get to know this slightly odd, yet overly eager bull a little better.

“Perhaps. However, Mr. Blitzen,” she reached up to touch his arm, “If you could do me a favor?”

“Anythin’!”

She lit up, a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Impress me.”