A Different Drummer: One recent random Tuesday

Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny were playing poker one evening, not for money of course; that would not be a wholesome story. Santa played with candy canes and the Easter Bunny rolled with nougats. Currently, the Easter Bunny’s stack of canes was twice the size of Santa’s nougats.
The Thanksgiving Turkey was in the kitchen tossing a bean salad. He went bust 20 minutes ago when the bunny sandbagged him with a pair of aces.
“Hey, Turkey! Are you going to buy back in?” called Santa. “This rabbit has me on the ropes.”
Turkey called back, “Sure, I just need to gobble something. Bunny, you want salad? It’s romaine.”
“A small bowl, please,” said Bunny. “I need to leave room for more of Santa’s candy canes.” She grinned at Santa and cocked an ear.
“You just wait, Bunny,” said Santa. “Your time is coming.”
“Yes,” she said. “In about four months. April first next year.”
The sounds of closing cabinets and clattering plates came from the kitchen. “Santa,” called Turkey. “You want something?”
“A glass of milk, please, and a few of mother’s cookies. I do like hers best.”
Turkey came through the doorway carrying a platter of bites and beverages. He set the tray on the edge of the table. “Carrot juice?” he asked and offered a petite glass to Bunny, with a straw.
Bunny set down her cards. “Why don’t we take a break and eat?” she suggested.
Santa was sitting upright clutching his cards. “Quit now? No way. Not until after this hand is over. Come on, Bunny, make your usual raise.” Santa leaned forward grinning expectantly and staring at Bunny’s nougat stack.
“I fold,” said Bunny. She briskly pushed her cards toward the middle of the table and sipped her carrot juice, her eyes locked with Santa’s, though his were much wider. She danced her eyebrows at him and kept her mouth closed around her juice straw.
“Well, Dasher and Dancer!” cussed Santa and he threw a tiny fit. He tossed his hat at Turkey who was laughing uncontrollably. “So, you think it’s funny, huh? Ho, ho, ho? I had her.” He slapped his cards down on the table and they bounced over, sliding apart, revealing a house full of kings and queens.
Santa pulled off his glasses, pinched his nose between the eyes, and shook his head. “Mother will not be happy.”
Bunny chewed her salad. Turkey pecked at his beans. There was a moment of pre-Christmas silence in the room. Turkey remained aloof from the action. He was, after all, retired from his seasonal work, and thus in a nadir of enthusiasm. Also, he’d lost four pounds of mashed potatoes, two cups of cranberry sauce, and a boatload of gravy. Poker wasn’t his game. His method was to randomly bet big and hope.
Bunny took a break from chewing. “Santa,” she said, frank and level.
Santa pulled his hand down from his frowny face and opened his eyes. “What?”
“Do you know what a tell is?” she asked, and grabbed a sip to clear her throat.
“Tell what? What are you talking about?”
“A tell, Santa. A poker tell, like if a person sits up straight when he has a good hand, or he plays with his candy canes whenever he’s bluffing. That’s a tell. When you have good cards, you’re not supposed to act excited and encourage me to raise.”
“I was excited. I finally got good cards. I’ve had quite a few bad hands lately.”
“Yes, I know,” said Bunny. “You were very sad.”
“So,” asked Santa Claus, “I still have a question then about this game you invited us to your warren to play. What is bluffing? I don’t know that word either.”
Turkey started gobbling so hard he had to leave the room.
Bunny rocked on her haunches. “You don’t know what bluffing is? Are you serious?”
“Ho, ho, ho,” said Santa. “I’ve played a lot of card games with the elves and mother, slapjack and go fish, but I’ve never heard of tells and bluffs.”
“Well, Santa, a bluff is when you act like you have good cards when you actually have bad cards, or the other way around.”
Santa was taken aback. “What? Do you mean I am supposed to lie? Why, that’s cheating. My goodness. I could never do that. I’m Santa. Santa doesn’t lie. Santa doesn’t bluff.”
Bunny twitched her nose, again and again. “Santa, that’s the name of the game, to fake, to trick, to lure, to deceive.”
“Oh, my goodness. It sounds like a terrible game now. I’m sorry I played it with you.”
“Come on, Santa,” pleaded Bunny. “Are you telling me that you live at the North Pole and deliver presents to every good boy and girl in the world in one night with flying reindeer, and you of all people do not pretend? You do know what pretend means?”
“Yes, of course I do,” said Santa. “But it is not my responsibility to pretend. That is the responsibility of those who wish to believe in me. Come on, Turkey. I’ll give you a ride home. I think you’ve had too much eggnog.”
Just then the front door flew open and in rushed a whole flock of angry chickens. “Santa, Santa, stop. Whatever you do, don’t play poker with this bunny. We played poker with her once, and she won all our eggs for life.”