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Judy had always believed that the best part of any holiday was the time spent with family. As a kit she had lived for the chaos of Carrot Day festivals, for the way her parents and all of her hundreds of brothers and sisters – more than two hundred eighty and still counting – would cram into the homestead’s kitchen, each one vying for the first taste of Bonnie Hopps’s famous harvest stew. Even after she had moved to Zootopia to become the city’s first bunny officer, she carried those memories like a lantern through dark nights on patrol. It warmed her heart to know that at the end of a long shift she could call home and hear thirty different voices shout “Hi, Jude!” in chorus before the phone was passed back to her parents.
Nick Wilde did not have such memories. He had grown up in an apartment above a bakery on a street where the smell of cinnamon rolls competed with the stink of exhaustion, and Christmas had been one more day to hustle to make ends meet. When he’d confessed that to Judy once .. disguised in a joke about foxes not believing in Santa Paws because they never got on the “nice” list … she had seen past the grin at the sadness behind it. So when she found herself standing in his apartment two days before Christmas, taking in the chaos and bare walls, and the way the only colorful lights came from advertising signs and the traffic outside his window, she knew she couldn’t leave him here.
“Come on, Slick,” she said, leaning against his kitchen counter looking for a clean mug. “No tree? No lights? This is tragic.”
Nick lounged on his couch, paws behind his head, his fur glowing from the streetlamps. “Hey, carrots, some of us prefer a minimalist aesthetic. Plus, it’s easier to hide when the tax collector comes by if you don’t put up a giant neon arrow saying ‘festive fox inside.’”
“I’m serious,” she said. “What are you doing for Christmas?”
He tilted his head, still smiling. “Probably working. Bogo needs bodies on patrol, and Clawhauser promised to smuggle me some of those glazed donuts shaped like christmas trees.”
“That is not a Christmas plan,” she replied, crossing her arms. “That’s just a sugar crash waiting to happen. When was the last time you had a real holiday?”
He shrugged. “Define ‘real.’ If by that you mean being crammed into a small space with relatives you’ve never met, forced to endure endless small talk and the occasional kit gnawing and drooling on your tail…”
“…that’s exactly what I mean!” Judy interrupted him, her eyes lighting up. “And that’s why you’re coming with me to Bunnyburrow!”
Nick sat up so quickly that his paw knocked a stack of magazines off the couch table. “Whoa, whoa, pump the brakes, Judy. Me? In Bunnyburrow? With… how many again?”
“More than three hundred,” she said with a grin, loving the way his eyes widened. “Mom says they stopped counting after two hundred and seventy‑five. Look, Nick, I don’t want you to be alone. You’re my partner, and… well, you’re family to me. Besides, who else is going to help me keep the kits out of the carrot cookies?”
He opened his mouth, ready with some witty retort about foxes and rabbits, but the word “family” seemed to catch him off guard. For a long moment he stared at her, all humor fading from his face. “You … r..really want me there?”
“I really do,” she said softly. “Mom and Dad already said yes. I called them on the way here. They like you, you know. Especially Dad. He thinks you’re hilarious.”
“Your dad thinks I’m hilarious because I let him win at cards,” Nick said, his grin slowly returning. He leaned back, tail flicking. “Okay, Carrots. I’ll brave your warren – on one condition.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Name it.”
“You help me remember every single one of your siblings’ names. I don’t want to commit a diplomatic incident by confusing Cotton with Cottonball.”
Judy laughed, relief flooding through her. “Deal. But just so you know, there are four Cottons... and two Cottonballs.”
Snow began to fall as their train rattled out of the city two mornings later, the frost layering the windows with delicate lace. Judy pressed her nose to the glass, pointing out landmarks from her childhood as they passed fields dusted white and forests of conifers heavy with snow. Nick, uncharacteristically quiet, watched her with a small but warm smile.
“You know, I thought you were kidding about the names,” he said, glancing down at the stack of flash cards she had handed him. Each card bore a photo of a rabbit with their name written beneath in Judy’s cursive handwriting. “But you actually made study materials?!”
“Officer Hopps always comes prepared,” she beamed at him. “Let’s see. Who’s this?” She held up a card with a tiny gray bunny wearing a toothy grin.
Nick squinted. “John?”
“That’s Jim!” she exclaimed. “And this?”
He smirked. “Molly. She’s the one who tried to chew my tie at your graduation. Kid’s got taste...”
They spent the rest of the journey quizzing each other, laughing when Nick mispronounced “Clover” as “Cloverleaf” and when he insisted that Violet should have violet eyes because of her name. By the time the train pulled into the Bunnyburrow station, Nick knew at least fifty names by heart and had turned the flash cards into a game, awarding himself points and begging for blueberries whenever he passed a new milestone.
The station itself was a bustle of activity. Rabbits of every color hopped along the platform, hauling boxes of produce, catching trains to nearby towns, and greeting relatives with hugs. Stu and Bonnie Hopps stood at the edge of the crowd, waving as soon as they spotted Judy’s long ears. Bonnie’s eyes were shining with joy, Stu’s cheeks were all rosy from the cold.
“There’s my little officer!” Bonnie cried as Judy barreled into her embrace. “And Nick! Oh, bless my carrots, look at you all bundled up! Come here, you big fox.”
Nick hesitated for a fraction of a second before Bonnie enveloped him in a hug. He stiffened and then slowly relaxed, returning the embrace with a gentle pat on her back. “Good to see you too, Mrs. Hopps,” he said. “Mr. Hopps. Nice decorations. Very subtle.”
Stu beamed. “Built this myself,” he said, gesturing toward a photo he had pulled from his coat pocket of the enormous carrot‑shaped topiary at the farm, strung with so many lights it could probably be seen from space. “Bonnie says I overdid it, but I say you can never have too many lights.”
After a round of hugs and introductions, Stu led them to his battered blue pickup truck parked near the station. They loaded their luggage into the back alongside crates of parsnips and bags of seed. “Hop in!” he called. Nick squeezed between Judy‘s parents while Judy leaped onto his lap as there was definitely not enough room otherwise. The heater rattled as Stu guided the truck onto the snowy road.
The ride to the Hopps homestead took them past rolling fields blanketed in white. Fences glistened with ice. In the distance, red barns and windmills broke the monochrome landscape. Judy pointed out the hill where she had sledded as a kit and the pond that froze thick enough for skating. Nick listened, amused. He had never been to the countryside in winter; the silence between farmhouses was both eerie and beautiful. Eight minutes later the truck turned down a long lane flanked by rows of carrot plants poking up through the snow. Lights twinkled on the porch of a big farmhouse, and a giant carrot‑shaped tree glowed in the yard.
Inside, the Hopps home was a warm haven of noise and color. Garland hung from the ceiling. A huge tree – carved into the shape of a carrot, of course – stood in the corner, decked out in ornaments shaped like miniature vegetables. The smell of cinnamon, nutmeg and roasting carrots filled the air. Kits darted between legs, their fur brushing Nick’s knees. Everywhere he looked there were rabbits: gray, gold, brown, cream, pale yellow, black, white and even lavender. It was dizzying and yet oddly comforting.
“That’s Jim!” she exclaimed. “Nice! And this?”
“Okay, everyone!” Bonnie called, clapping her paws. “This is Nick Wilde. He works with our Judy in the big city. Nick, these are our kids, grandkids, .. oh well, you will get to know them all over time.”
A chorus of high‑pitched voices erupted. “Hi, Officer Wilde!” “Hi, Nick!” “Mom, is he really an officer?” “He’s tall!” “Can I touch his tail?”
“Uh, hi,” Nick said, holding up his paws. “One at a time, please. Yes, I’m really an officer. No, you cannot chew my tail. Hi, Cotton… and Cotton… and .. uh.. Cotton.”
The kits giggled. Judy leaned in. “That was Clover, actually.”
“Close enough,” Nick muttered.
As the day wore on, Nick found himself pulled into the Hopps family’s rhythm. He helped Stu stack firewood, his claws making short work of the logs. He taste‑tested Bonnie’s carrot cookies, offering dramatic critiques that made her laugh and swat his paw with a wooden spoon. He sat at the huge dining table with twenty other rabbits, balancing a baby bunny on his knee while another climbed onto his shoulders to braid his ears. He learned that there were indeed multiple Cottons, that Clover loved magic tricks, and that Evelin could recite every law in the Zootopian code because she idolized her police officer sister.
Late in the afternoon, while they were shelling walnuts for a pie, Bonnie broached the subject of Santa Paws. “Every year,” she explained, handing Nick a bowl of nuts, “one of us dresses up and gives the little ones their presents. Normally it’s my brother Terry, but he had a mishap with a cabbage thresher – don’t worry, he’s fine – and we’re a bit short‑paws.”
“So you want me to be Santa?” Nick asked, cracking a shell with a sharp tooth. “A fox playing Santa Paws in a house full of rabbits. That doesn’t sound at all like the setup to a slapstick comedy.”
“We think you’d be perfect,” Bonnie said earnestly. “You’re tall, you’ve got a nice deep voice when you want, and you’ve been such a positive influence on our Judy. Plus, your tail will look great in red velvet.”
Stu snorted into his cider. “And you’ve got experience standin’ on the wrong side of the law,” he added with a wink, “so it’ll be cathartic.”
Judy elbowed her father lightly. “Dad! Nick, you don’t have to if you don’t want. It’s just… the little ones really look forward to it. And I think you’d have fun.” She looked at him with her big eyes and warm smile that adonis made Nick flush. He quickly pretended to consider, tapping a claw against his muzzle. “Well,” he drawled, “I do look good in hats. And I never turn down an opportunity to make a dramatic entrance. All right, Carrots. But you’re on name duty. If I mix up Clover and Daisy, I’m blaming you.”
Judy grinned. “Deal. We’ll practice after dinner.”
That night, after the younger kits were tucked into their nest of blankets and older siblings were busy playing cards with cousins, Judy spread her flash cards across the living room rug. Nick flopped down beside her, still wearing a knitted sweater that someone’s grandmother had foisted upon him. It was carrot orange with green trim and clashed terribly with his fur, but he claimed it was warm.
“Okay,” Judy said, holding up a card. “Hopp quiz. Who is this?”
Nick studied the picture of a rabbit with pale yellow fur and enormous eyes. “That’s Daisy,” he answered confidently.
“Nope,” Judy corrected gently. “That’s Violet. Daisy’s ears have a little notch on the left.”
He groaned. “But Violet should have violet eyes! It’s in the name!”
Judy shook her head, amused. “This is Bunnyburrow, Nick. Half the names have nothing to do with their features. Don’t get me started on my cousin Brownie. He’s white.”
As she kept quizzing him, conversation drifted to quieter topics. Nick told her stories about hustling on the streets during his youth, how he and his mother had invented elaborate holiday games to make the day feel special even when there was no money for presents. He recalled burning a batch of cookies so badly one year that the fire department showed up, and his mother had laughed until she cried. Judy shared tales of snowball fights that turned into full‑scale battles, of times when all her siblings created a chain to pass buckets of water and put out a barn fire. They spoke in hushed tones, mindful of sleeping kits, but their voices were still bright with laughter and affection.
“You really never celebrated with a big family?” Judy asked at one point, flipping over a card.
Nick shook his head. “It was just me and Mom. She worked a lot. Holidays were one of the busiest times for the bakery. Sometimes I’d make enough hustling to surprise her with a pie. Mostly… it was just another day.”
Judy reached over and squeezed his paw. “Well, that’s gonna change. Promise.”
He looked at their paws, then at her, and for a second something like vulnerability flickered across his face. “You know, Carrots,” he said quietly, “it’s been a long time since anyone invited me anywhere because they wanted me there.”
She squeezed again with a warm smile. “Get used to it.”
Christmas Eve dawned crisp and bright, sunlight sparkling on the snow. Inside the Hopps house, however, the world was warm and golden. The fireplace crackled cheerfully, and the smell of cinnamon and carrot wafted through the air. Stu, already up with the roosters, chopped wood outside while humming carols. Bonnie and the older daughters bustled in the kitchen. The kits tore around the house like a small army until someone redirected them into making paper snowflakes.
Judy spent the morning helping her mother with the pies and giving Nick a crash course in Santa Paws theatrics. They hung a red velvet coat on his shoulders, tucked a fluffy white beard under his chin, and perched a wide‑brimmed hat between his ears. Nick eyed himself in the mirror, his brows disappearing beneath the hat.
“How do I look?” he asked, turning to Judy with a dramatic flourish.
“Ridiculous,” she said affectionately, and then, when he feigned offense, “-ly festive. The kits are going to love you..it!”
“I don’t know, Hopps,” he said, tugging at the beard. “I’m used to making people believe my tricks, but this might be my biggest con yet.”
“You’re not conning anyone,” she replied. “You’re making their holiday. Just be yourself… plus jollier.”
He puffed out his chest. “Ho ho ho,” he said in an intentionally monotone voice.
She burst out laughing. “That was terrible. Try again. But with feeling.”
“Ho ho –” He paused, rolled his eyes, and shook out his shoulders. Then he took a breath, channeled every carnival barker and stage actor he’d ever hustled, and bellowed, “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas! Have you been good little kits this year?”
His voice resonated through the house. On the other side of the door there was a squeal and the sound of tiny paws scrambling. Nick grinned. “Better?”
“Perfect,” Judy said, clapping. “You might put Santa himself to shame.”
In the afternoon, as the sun dipped low and the sky turned a soft violet, Bonnie gathered the youngest kits around the fireplace. They sat on cushions and blankets, their ears perked. Judy knelt by the hearth, an old, dog‑eared book in her paws. The cover was illustrated with Mickey Mouse wearing a top hat and carrying a cane, and across the top in gold lettering were the words “Mickey’s Christmas Carol.”
“This is the story my Gram Gram used to read to me when I was little,” Judy said, running a paw over the cover with a nostalgic smile. After a few moments she opened the book and began. “Once upon a time in a city called Berry‑Town, there lived a miserly lynx named Eben‑Ezellyn Scrooge…”
The kits leaned in, eyes wide. Judy’s voice was warm and animated as she painted a picture of the greedy Scrooge prowling through snowy streets, ignoring carolers and refusing to donate to charity. She described his timid employee, Bob Cratchit – a kindly rabbit who worked hard to support his family. When the ghost of Christmas Past arrived, he was portrayed as a squirrel with a glowing lantern, showing Scrooge scenes of his youth.
Nick, sitting just inside the door in full Santa attire, listened with a smile tugging at his lips. He had expected Judy’s reading voice to be clipped and official, the way she sounded when citing regulations. Instead it was soft and lyrical, rich with emotion. She slipped into different characters easily, lowering her voice for the ghost of Christmas Present – now a jovial bear from Tundratown – and making it airy for the silent Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, reimagined as a sleek panther.
“Scrooge woke with a start,” Judy read, eyes shining. “He leaped from his bed and ran to the window. Snowflakes danced in the morning light. ‘I haven’t missed it!’ he cried. ‘There’s still time to change!’ And change he did. He gave his employee a raise, donated to charity, and from that day forward, he kept Christmas in his heart all year long.”
Nick couldn’t resist. “Did he also pay back years of unpaid taxes?” he whispered loudly. “Because I feel like that’s an important detail.”
The kits giggled. Judy shot him a mock glare. “Nick!”
“What?” he said, lifting his paws innocently. “I’m just concerned for the integrity of the story.”
She shook her head, fighting laughter. “For the record, yes. Scrooge paid all his back taxes. He even started a scholarship for underprivileged kits.”
“Aw,” Nick said. “What a model citizen.”
A little bunny tugged on Judy’s sleeve. “Officer Wilde talks funny,” she whispered loudly.
“He’s just being silly,” Judy told her, giving Nick a look that was half reprimand and half fondness. “Let’s finish the story.”
As she read the final lines, the kits sighed and snuggled closer. Judy closed the book and set it aside. “And that,” she said, “is why we believe everyone deserves a second chance, and why we always share what we have with others.”
There was a moment of silence as the little ones absorbed the tale. Then someone knocked on the door so loudly the walls rattled.
“Ho ho ho!” boomed Nick’s voice from outside. “Is there a house full of good little kits in here?”
Squeals erupted. The kits scrambled to their feet and raced toward the door. Judy winked at them. “Let’s see who it is. Remember, be polite!”
She opened the door to reveal Nick in full Santa Paws regalia. His red coat gleamed, the white trim fluffy, and his hat perched at a rakish angle between his ears. The fake beard covered his muzzle, but his green eyes twinkled with mischief. Over one shoulder he carried a burlap sack bulging with presents.
“Well, well,” he said, putting a paw on his hip. “What do we have here? A warren full of bunnies? I must’ve taken a wrong turn at Tujunga Street.”
“Santa Paws!” Cotton cried, hopping up and down. “I’ve been good! I only set one trap for Tommy this week!”
Nick laughed. “That’s progress. Perhaps we’ll call it even. Now, let’s see…” He reached into his sack and pulled out a brightly wrapped package. “This one’s for Molly!”
A gray bunny with a pink ribbon squealed and ran up to take the present. Nick bent down to eye level and whispered, “You keep an eye on your brothers for me, okay?” Molly nodded solemnly.
He continued, calling each kit by name. “ Evelin!” he said, handing the aspiring police officer a toy badge and a small rulebook. “Don’t arrest anyone without probable cause.”
“Thanks, Santa!” Evelin said, puffing out her chest.
“Clover,” Nick announced, pulling out a magic kit complete with a deck of cards and a top hat. “For our resident magician. Maybe you can teach me how to pull a carrot out of my hat.”
Clover beamed. “I’ll show you after dinner!”
Judy watched from the sidelines, arms crossed over her chest, a smile tugging at her lips. Nick seemed to have grown two inches taller in the red suit. His movements were confident, and his voice carried just the right mix of authority, warmth, and joy. He remembered most names, calling Daisy “RoseBud” (to a chorus of giggles), brushing it off with a wink.
“He’s a natural,” Bonnie whispered to Judy, wiping a tear from her eye. “Look at him. He’s glowing.”
“He’s good with kids,” Judy replied softly. “He always has been. He just never had the chance to show it. You should have seen him when we visited the scouts last month.”
When the last present was delivered and the last kit had scampered away to play with their new toys, Nick set his sack down with an exaggerated sigh. “Whew! Being Santa is exhausting. I should unionize.”
“You should get some blueberry cookies,” Judy said, pressing a plate into his paws. “And maybe a mug of cider. You earned it.”
They sat together by the fireplace as the household bustled around them. Older rabbits set the table for supper, teenagers argued good‑naturedly over who would slice the pie, and the youngest kits crawled under the tree in search of stray ribbons. Outside, snow began to fall again, each flake illuminated by the soft glow of the lights draped over Stu’s enormous carrot tree.
Nick took a bite of a cookie and groaned appreciatively. “Okay, these might be worth the trip alone,” he said. “Don’t tell your mom I said that. Actually…. do tell her! I want her on my good side.”
Judy laughed. “She already loves you. Dad does too. You saw how he kept trying to get you to join his card game?”
“I was tempted,” Nick admitted. “But I think I’d rather enjoy this view right now.”
He wasn’t looking at the tree. He was looking at her. Heat rushed to Judy’s cheeks, and she looked away, busying herself with her mug. “It’s nice,” she mumbled.
They fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional shout of a bunny discovering a hidden gift. Outside, the wind whistled softly. Inside, warmth wrapped around them like a blanket.
After dinner, the kits were shepherded upstairs and downstairs, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Bonnie and Stu followed, promising to join them in a few minutes for bedtime stories. The older siblings retreated to the barn for a midnight snowball fight. Soon, the only ones left in the living room were Judy and Nick.
Nick stretched, tail draping over the couch cushion. “This is usually the part where I’d head home,” he said quietly. “Back to an empty apartment. Maybe catch a late‑night movie. Go to bed. Wake up. Go to work. Same as any other day.”
Judy set her mug down and turned to face him fully. “Not this year,” she said. “You’re staying right here. And tomorrow morning, those kits are going to come down and drag you out of bed at dawn to play in the snow. Hope you’re ready.”
He chuckled. “I think I can manage.” He leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Then his voice softened. “Thank you, Judy. For inviting me. For… everything.”
She felt her heart swell. In the firelight his fur looked burnished, his eyes a deeper green. Without thinking too much about it, she reached out and took his paw again. “Thank you for coming,” she replied. “For being Santa. For making this whole day so special. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
He squeezed her paw. The contact sent a warmth through her that had nothing to do with the fire. “You know,” he murmured, “when I was a kit, I always wondered what it would be like to have a big family. I’d look at the other foxes or wolves and think, ‘Must be nice to have a pack.’ I stopped wondering after a while. Figured it wasn’t in the cards for me.”
“And now?” Judy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.He looked at her, something unguarded in his gaze. “Now… I’m thinking maybe I found one anyway. Even if they’re all rabbits.”
She smiled, and before she could second‑guess herself she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. His fur was soft beneath her cheek. He went still, and then she felt him relax, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head. Outside, snowflakes tapped against the window in a soft rhythm. The fire crackled and popped. Somewhere upstairs a kit laughed in their sleep.
They sat like that for a long time, neither speaking, content simply to listen to each other breathe. Judy’s eyes fluttered closed. She felt Nick’s paw wrap around hers, felt the steady thump of his heart under her ear. The warmth of the fire and the weight of the day washed over her, and she let herself drift.
“I guess Santa Paws needs a nap too,” Nick whispered, his voice rumbling through his chest.
“You earned it,” Judy mumbled, half asleep.
“Do you think Scrooge ever snuggled with Cratchit like this?” he teased.
She laughed softly. “Maybe in the sequel.”
“Merry Christmas, Judy,” he said.
“Merry Christmas, Nick,” she whispered back.
The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was the feeling of his tail curling around her like a blanket and the thought that sometimes, the family you choose is the one that sneaks up on you in red velvet and a fake beard.