The Twelve Days of Astrominal Christmas
Twelve days. Twelve gifts. Twelve animals who absolutely should not have been trusted with livestock.
You know the song. Somebody’s true love goes completely overboard and sends them a steadily growing pile of birds, jewellery and people who won’t stop dancing. Nobody ever asks the obvious question: what did the recipient actually do with it all?
We’ve given one day to each Astrominal, matched to their star sign with great care and very little scientific method. Here’s how it went.
On the First Day of Christmas... Arri the Rhino (Aries)
The gift: A partridge in a pear tree.
Why Arri got Day One: Because Aries always goes first. If you’d tried to give Day One to anyone else, Arri would have taken it anyway, through a wall.
What happened: Arri didn’t wait to find out what a partridge was for. He ate the pear, climbed the tree, fell out of the tree, and then tried to race the partridge round the garden. The partridge won on a technicality (it can fly). Arri demanded a rematch. By lunchtime he had also opened Days Two to Twelve, because “why are we doing this one at a time?”, and the true love had to start the whole song again.
And a partridge, now in a neighbour’s tree, refusing to come down.
On the Second Day of Christmas... Gem & Eye the Twin Toucans (Gemini)
The gift: Two turtle doves.
Why Gem & Eye got Day Two: Two of them. Two of those. It was never going to be anyone else.
What happened: Gem & Eye gave one dove each a name, a backstory and a podcast. By teatime the doves had a combined following of 40,000 and their own merchandise. The toucans then started arguing over which dove was funnier, the doves started arguing over which toucan was funnier, and the whole thing ended up as a four-way chat show broadcast live from the bird table.
And two turtle doves, now on a world tour.
On the Third Day of Christmas... Taur the Bull (Taurus)
The gift: Three French hens.
Why Taur got Day Three: He’s a farm animal who loves food, comfort and anything with a French accent and a decent cheese course.
What happened: Taur welcomed the hens like long-lost relatives, provided them with heated straw, a velvet perch and a light classical playlist. In return, they gave him the finest eggs in Europe. By New Year he had opened a small bistro in the barn, served the same omelette every single day, and refused all suggestions that he try a different filling. The hens were delighted. They have never been so pampered. One of them has put on weight. So has Taur.
And three French hens who are never, ever leaving.
On the Fourth Day of Christmas... Score the Lobster-Scorpion (Scorpio)
The gift: Four calling birds.
Why Score got Day Four: Four birds whose entire job is calling? In Score’s claws, that’s not a gift. That’s an intelligence network.
What happened: Within an hour, the birds had been briefed, given codenames and stationed on four strategic rooftops. By Boxing Day, Score knew who had eaten the last mince pie, who had re-gifted her present from 2023, and who was secretly planning the office party. She also knew, crucially, who the true love was, and was already quietly drawing up a file.
And four calling birds, who now only report to her.
On the Fifth Day of Christmas... Leo the Lion (Leo)
The gift: Five gold rings.
Why Leo got Day Five: Obviously. It’s the big moment in the song. It’s the bit where everybody slows down, takes a deep breath and belts it out like it’s the West End. Leo didn’t just ask for Day Five. He stood outside the song with a placard until he got it.
What happened: He wore all five at once, on one paw, to breakfast. He had them polished twice a day. He insisted that anyone singing the song in his presence hold the note for at least twelve seconds, ideally while kneeling. The other eleven days, he felt, were essentially his backing singers.
FIIIIVE GOOOLD RIIINGS. (Leo’s version runs to roughly forty seconds.)
On the Sixth Day of Christmas... Cap the Goat (Capricorn)
The gift: Six geese a-laying.
Why Cap got Day Six: A gift that produces something every single day? That’s not a present. That’s a revenue stream.
What happened: Cap had the geese on a productivity spreadsheet by 9am. Egg output was tracked daily, quarterly targets were set, and the geese were given performance reviews, with the lowest layer quietly placed on an improvement plan. Profits were reinvested in a seventh goose. By March Cap owned the largest egg business in the county, and was pictured on the cover of a farming magazine in a chunky green turtleneck, standing on top of a mountain of egg boxes.
And six geese a-laying, now unionised.
On the Seventh Day of Christmas... Pike the Fish (Pisces)
The gift: Seven swans a-swimming.
Why Pike got Day Seven: Water. Grace. Something achingly beautiful gliding about with no real plan. It’s basically a mirror.
What happened: Pike swam with the swans every morning, painted them every afternoon and wrote them a poem every evening. She gave each one a name inspired by a different emotion. By the end of the week the swans had become noticeably more reflective and one of them had taken up the cello. On the seventh night, Pike drifted off to look at the moon, and the swans drifted off with her. All eight were found the next morning in the middle of the lake, completely content, having had what they all described as “a moment”.
And seven swans a-swimming, slightly more spiritual than when they arrived.
On the Eighth Day of Christmas... Canny the Crab (Cancer)
The gift: Eight maids a-milking.
Why Canny got Day Eight: Eight new people turning up at the door? Canny had the kettle on before they’d knocked.
What happened: Canny gave all eight maids a cup of tea, a hot-water bottle and a hand-knitted cardigan. Then Canny asked about their families, cried at most of the answers, and insisted they stay for Christmas dinner. Then for New Year. Then indefinitely. The milk went into four hundred rice puddings, delivered personally to everyone in the street with a handwritten note. The maids now call Canny “Mum”, though only two of them are younger.
And eight maids a-milking, who have been adopted.
On the Ninth Day of Christmas... Libby the Flamingo (Libra)
The gift: Nine ladies dancing.
Why Libby got Day Nine: Grace, elegance and the ability to stand on one leg for an hour. Libby was born for this day.
What happened: The dancing itself was gorgeous. The problem was deciding which dance. Four ladies wanted a waltz, four wanted the tango, and one wanted to do the Macarena. Libby spent eleven hours listening carefully to every point of view and eventually choreographed a brand-new routine that was one-third waltz, one-third tango and one-third Macarena. It was a disaster. It was also, somehow, beautiful. It’s now taught at two dance schools in Swindon.
And nine ladies dancing, all doing slightly different dances, in perfect harmony.
On the Tenth Day of Christmas... Sagg the Zebra (Sagittarius)
The gift: Ten lords a-leaping.
Why Sagg got Day Ten: Ten people who just leap? Into things? Without thinking? Sagg had found his people.
What happened: Sagg took the lords bungee jumping in New Zealand, cliff diving in Mexico and leaping off a glacier in Iceland, all before Twelfth Night. Unfortunately, he forgot to check whether lords can swim. Three of them can’t. Two have lost their wigs. One is still somewhere in Peru and has sent a postcard saying he’s never been happier.
And ten lords a-leaping (nine accounted for).
On the Eleventh Day of Christmas... Aqua the Pelican (Aquarius)
The gift: Eleven pipers piping.
Why Aqua got Day Eleven: She’s the water-carrier. She heard “pipers” and assumed it was plumbing.
What happened: By the time anyone explained they were musicians, Aqua had already connected all eleven of them to an experimental water system running through the house. The pipes, rather marvellously, now play music when you turn a tap on. The hot tap plays a jig. The cold tap plays a lament. The downstairs loo plays something nobody can identify, and Aqua insists it’s “from about 2047”.
And eleven pipers piping, now officially part of the plumbing.
On the Twelfth Day of Christmas... Virgo the Shy Sheep (Virgo)
The gift: Twelve drummers drumming.
Why Virgo got Day Twelve: Somebody has to tidy up at the end. And somebody has to keep time.
What happened: Virgo got the twelve drummers playing in perfect, precise, metronomic time, which took nine hours and a lot of quiet, polite correcting. Then she did something nobody else had thought to do. She added it all up.
Because in the song the gifts repeat every day, the true love didn’t send 78 presents. They sent 364. That’s twelve partridges (each in its own pear tree), twenty-two turtle doves, thirty French hens, thirty-six calling birds, forty gold rings, forty-two geese, forty-two swans, forty maids, thirty-six ladies, thirty lords, twenty-two pipers and twelve drummers. One for every day of the year except Christmas Day itself.
Virgo put all of this into a colour-coded spreadsheet, sent it to the true love with a polite but firm returns form, and then went for a little lie-down.
And a partridge in a pear tree. And another one. And ten more. (Virgo has labelled them all.)
The Mystery of the True Love
Which leaves only one question: who was the true love who sent all twelve Astrominals all these gifts?
Score, naturally, had the answer by the fourth day. Her calling birds traced every delivery back to one address. A cosy little house, with steamed-up windows, a kettle that never stops and a tree covered in salt-dough handprints.
It was Canny. Of course it was Canny. Canny sent all 364 gifts to everybody, then acted completely surprised to receive eight maids a-milking, and cried.
So, which Astrominal are you? And what would you do with your Day?