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Smarti adjusted his tiny clipboard and surveyed the living room. Every detail had been carefully accounted for: garland hung at even intervals, stockings perfectly aligned, and the lights on the tree blinking in an exact sequence of red, green, and gold. He nodded in satisfaction, flipping to his next page of notes.
“Now, the farewell gesture,” he muttered. “A simple craft, something orderly and meaningful. Perhaps a scrapbook highlighting Eric’s achievements this year.”
“A scrapbook? Seriously?” Harold’s deep, jovial voice echoed from the corner. The giraffalope trotted forward, a tangle of tinsel draped over one antler and a string of popcorn caught on his hoof. “That’s so boring. Why not build something fun, like a race track for Eric’s toy cars? I could help make ramps!”
Smarti frowned, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “Harold, a farewell is not about frivolity. It should be organized and heartfelt. A race track will just create more chaos.”
“Not if we do it right!” Harold grinned. “Come on, Smarti. Let loose for once! Have some fun!”
“Fun?” Smarti bristled. “This isn’t about me. It’s about setting a good example for Eric who, I might add, is finally off the naughty list. Order and precision are essential.”
Harold tilted his head, his usual cheer dimming slightly. “You know, Smarti, sometimes it’s okay to loosen the reins. Eric doesn’t need perfection in order to stay off the naughty list.”
Smarti opened his mouth to argue but stopped. He glanced at Harold, the giraffalope’s gentle tone striking a chord. “I… I suppose there’s more than one way to leave an impression.”
“Exactly!” Harold beamed, stepping closer. “So, how about we mix our ideas? A scrapbook with some interactive elements. Maybe a pop-up race track on one page?”
Smarti rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Interactive… that could work. But no glitter. Glitter is chaos incarnate.”
“Deal,” Harold said, holding out a hoof. They shook on it.
The two worked late into the night, crafting a farewell gift that was the perfect mix Smarti’s precision and Harold’s playfulness with fold-out surprises and movable parts. Harold even managed to sneak in a small car ramp on the final page.
As they finished, Smarti sat back and sighed. “You know, Harold, this isn’t what I envisioned, but… it feels right.”
“Told you,” Harold said with a wink. “You just needed to loosen up a bit.”
Smarti’s gaze drifted to his clipboard, now lying forgotten on the table. “Harold, can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Harold replied, settling onto the floor beside him.
“Do you think…” Smarti hesitated. “Do you think I’m too rigid for this program?”
Harold’s eyes softened. “I think you’re great at what you do, Smarti. But, if I may be so bold, you don’t seem to really enjoy it.”
Smarti sighed. “I enjoy parts of it. When an activity comes together as planned, when Eric follows instructions I’ve left, when I make entries into The Book. That is my kind of fun.”
Harold’s eyes lit with a sudden idea. “Smarti, maybe there’s a way for you to be part of this program in a different way.”
Smarti nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps Santa could use someone to refine the Instruction Manual. I’ve noticed quite a few areas that could use clarification.”
Harold laughed. “That sounds like you. And you’d be amazing at it.”
As the first rays of dawn crept into the room, Harold stretched, his movements slower than usual. Smarti’s sharp eyes didn’t miss the way Harold’s vibrant coat seemed just a bit duller.
“Harold,” Smarti said softly. “Are you…?”
Harold nodded, a serene smile on his face. “It’s time, Smarti.”
Smarti swallowed hard, his usual composure faltering. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Smarti,” Harold said. “But you’re going to do great things. Just promise me one thing.”
“Don’t force Eric to read another book on good behavior?”
“No, don’t forget to have a little fun now and then.”
Smarti chuckled softly. “I’ll try.”
By the time Eric woke up, the fun, and organized, scrapbook sat on the dining room table. Harold stood beside it, now just a plain old stuffed giraffalope.
Smarti watched from his hiding spot, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Goodbye, Harold.”
a pinch of homestead 