Hoping for Red
by Adam Knight
Vixen had just one question for the doctor:
“Can you do it?”
Doctor Fizzwinkle smiled and patted the fur on Vixen’s neck. Outside of the office, the winds whipped furiously, as they did most of the time north of the Arctic Circle. In the office, though, the glow of fluorescent light and the smell of rubbing alcohol made Vixen feel secure and cared for.
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “The procedure you heard about is simple in principle―I would take DNA samples of you and Mr. Vixen, then analyze the cells to see your genetic predispositions, and manipulate the chromosomes to produce the calf that you and your husband desire.”
“Then why not?” Vixen said, stamping her hooves in a little dance.
“Well, everything is simple in principle,” the Doctor said. “But I’ve never done it before.”
Vixen smiled and shook her antlers. She nuzzled against Doctor Fizzwinkle. All the reindeer, indeed all of the animals in the North Pole, loved the good doctor, the best veterinarian north of sixty-six degrees latitude.
“Have you and Mr. Vixen tried all of the techniques I presented? Did he take the pills I prescribed?”
“Yes, and yes,” Vixen replied.
“Give it time, and patience, and you can certainly have a healthy, normal calf.”
“But I don’t want a normal calf!” blurted out Vixen. The Doctor smiled sadly and shook his head.