Grotto,” said Hatty.
“Like you can spell,” snorted Muriel.
Brenda cleared her beak and used the tip of it to follow the words. “It says that someone called Santa is coming here.”
“Who’s Santa?” asked Blue. “Do you know, Rory?”
Before Rory could answer, Ursie’s paw shot up. “Ooh … I know, I know! He’s a chubby bloke with a long white beard. When we were cubs, we spent Christmas at the zookeeper’s house and we saw him, didn’t we, Orson?”
Orson put his chin in his paws and thought back. “Ah yes, happy days,” he sighed. “The smell of the turkey … the Christmas tree … the kids hanging up their stockings on Christmas Eve. If they were good, Santa brought them presents—Lordy, here he comes now! He’s in the penguin enclosure!”
Muriel whisked round and saw a portly figure trudging towards them through the snow. “Santa!” she squealed. “I’ve been a good penguin. Give me a present!”
But it wasn’t Santa, it was Big Paulie. “Do I look like a fat guy with facial hair?” he grunted.
It was an easy mistake to make in the dim winter light. Paulie was the biggest penguin in the pool and he was carrying the chicks, so, from a distance, their fluffy feathers looked like a white beard.
Blue gave a small sigh. “Oh. I really hoped it was You Know Who, didn’t you, Rory?” she whispered.
Rory nodded. “Yeah. Oh well, maybe Santa will come next year.”
Big Paulie shook his beak and frowned. “Don’t get your hopes up, my little friend. Santa never visits the likes of us.”
Muriel pulled a face and stamped her foot in the snow. “Why not? I want a Christmas present!” she sulked.
Big Paulie held out his flippers and did his best to explain. “Muriel, the giving of gifts is a human tradition. Every Christmas, Santa comes all the way from the North Pole to visit City Zoo to give out presents, but they’re just for the children, not the animals.”
“That is tho mean, Unky Pooey!” squealed Oo-Chi, tweaking her uncle’s head feathers.
“Unky Pooey, why doethn’t Thanta like penguinth?” wailed Ku-Chi. “Why-why-why?”
Big Paulie counted patiently to ten and put the chicks down. “I don’t make the Christmas rules—Ouch!”
“Ha ha! Got you in the botty with a thnowball!” shrieked Oo-Chi.
Trying to keep his dignity, Paulie shook one leg, then the other, to shake the ice off his tail, and almost slipped. Rory grabbed him by the flippers to steady him.
“I’m fine,” insisted Paulie. “Just practising the snow dance Orson taught me.”
“I recognised it straight away,” said Rory, trying not to laugh. “Paulie, can I ask you something?”
The emperor penguin regained his balance. “As long as it’s not personal. I’m a very private penguin. Whaddya want to know?”
“It’s about Santa,” said Rory.
Paulie let out a long groan. “Santa again already?”
Paulie clearly wasn’t in the best of moods and Rory was just beginning to think that maybe he should stop asking questions, when Blue butted in.
“We just want to know why we’ve never seen Santa’s Grotto before if he comes here every year,” she blurted. “Don’t we, Rory?”
Paulie waved a dismissive flipper. “It’s usually over by the reindeer paddock,” he said, whisking round as one of the chicks crept up behind him. “No! Don’t do you dare throw that snowball at me, Ku-Chi—Ow! That’s it! I’m taking you back to your mother!”
He grabbed the chicks and turned to go, when Muriel kicked off again.
“It’s not fair! We want presents, don’t we, Hatty and Brenda?”
“We want bobble hats!” said Brenda.
“We want hamsters!” said Hatty.
Even Rory got caught up in the excitement. He only wanted a small gift, but to a penguin who lived to do stunts, it would be a dream come true.
“And I’d really like a set of sparkly wheels for my skateboard!” he whooped.
Paulie looked over his shoulder and fixed him with his beady eyes. “We’re penguins,” he said as he waddled away, “and penguins do not celebrate Christmas.”
“We’ll see about that!” muttered Muriel.
“He’s here!” hollered Ursie. “Let’s show him our stockings – we might be in luck.”
“I don’t wear stockings,” growled Orson. “Keep your voice down.”
The penguins rushed over to the grille.
“Look at the reindeer,” remarked Clive.
“Rain, dear?” repeated Eddie. “I thought it was snow. Ursie, can I borrow your brolly?”
There was a long queue of children leading up to the grotto and, as Santa parked himself in a rocking chair, the first little girl went over and sat on his lap.
“And what would you like for Christmas, young lady?” he asked.
“A giraffe, please.”
Santa gave a small groan, fished about in his sack and gave her a thin, square parcel.
“It looks a bit flat for a giraffe, doesn’t it, Clive?” mumbled Eddie.
“That’s because it’s a colouring book,” said Clive, who was more interested in the elves. “Who are those little green dudes in the funny hats and curly shoes?”
Brenda looked it up in her leaflet about Christmas at City Zoo.
“They’re
