Hey, Kristoff here. First things first. If you’re reading this, you’re probably a person, but don’t take that the wrong way. Actually do take it the wrong way a little bit. Because if you’re a person, there’s a pretty good chance you’ve done at least three of the following things today: Lied about something small for no reason, judged someone you just met, tried to charge too much money for something simple, tried to sell a hat that makes no sense, started unnecessary drama, or said “trust me” right before making things worse Now compare that to reindeers. What do reindeers do all day? Eat moss, pull sleds, help their best friends harvest ice, and occasionally scream into the wilderness for fun. That’s it. No drama. No weird social rules. No pretending to like someone when you clearly don’t. Just honesty, hard work, and a healthy appreciation for carrots. And that, my friends, is why reindeers are better than people. Now before you say something like, “Kristoff, that’s a pretty extreme opinion,” let me stop you right there. Because I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide this. This is years of research. Field research. Very cold field research. I’ve spent most of my life traveling the mountains, harvesting ice, delivering ice, hauling ice, talking about ice, and occasionally being chased by wolves while hauling ice. During that time I’ve met a LOT of people. And I’m here to tell you something important. People are exhausting. You know who isn’t exhausting? Reindeers. Let’s take a look at a normal day with people. You walk into town. Immediately someone tries to sell you something you don’t need. “Sir, would you like this decorative spoon?” No. “Perhaps this commemorative snow shovel?” No. And the worst part is they look offended when you don’t buy it. Meanwhile, if Sven wants something, he just walks up to me and stares until I give it to him. Simple communication. Reindeers understand that. People do not. And another thing about people is they talk too much. I don’t mean normal talking. I mean the kind of talking where someone says a lot of words but none of them mean anything. “How have you been?” They don’t actually want to know. They want you to say good even if you are NOT good. If I asked Sven how he was doing, he would tell me the truth. Watch. How you doing today, Sven? Pretty good, Kristoff. A little hungry though. See? Honest. Direct. Efficient. People could learn a lot from reindeers. But do they? No. Instead they make complicated rules about things like “table manners” and “proper conversation.” Apparently you’re not supposed to eat carrots directly off someone else’s plate. Apparently that’s “rude.” But we always share! That’s crazy! I agree. Let’s talk about loyalty for a second. Sven has been with me since we were kids. Through snowstorms. Ice deliveries. Sled crashes. That one time we got lost and slept outside for two weeks. He never left. He never said, “You know what Kristoff, I think I’m going to hang out with someone cooler.” Because reindeers are loyal. People, not so much. People will say things like, “We should get together sometime.” You know what that means? It means you will never see them again. Reindeers would never say that. If Sven says we’re doing something, we’re doing it. Usually it involves food. Sometimes it involves accidentally knocking over a snowman. But the point is: commitment. Another thing people don’t understand about reindeers is wisdom. Now I don’t have “proper schooling”, but I’m not dumb. I know wisdom when I see it. Like knowing when your buddy is having a bad day. Sven is great at that. If I’m having a rough time, he comes over and nudges me with his antlers until I either laugh or fall into a snowbank. Both are helpful. People, on the other hand, usually respond to someone having a bad day by saying something incredibly unhelpful like “Have you tried thinking positively?” If I’m having a rough day because I fell into the ice because Bjorn forgot to mark where his hole was after INSISTING on starting on the other end of the lake because it would be “more efficient”, then he blamed me for just being heavy and falling in and now I can barely even move, thinking positively isn’t going to help. I know that because it happened and thinking positively didn’t help. You know what did help? Sven dragging me home. Reindeers have practical solutions. People have motivational speeches that don’t solve anything. Now some of you might be wondering how I ended up spending so much time around reindeers in the first place. That’s a long story. Actually it’s not that long. I was raised by interdimensional healing love experts. They don’t discriminate between species. They took both me and Sven in like we were one and the same. They helped me find my best friend. Right, Sven? Right, as always, Kristoff! And if you ask me, having one loyal reindeer friend is way better than having a bunch of confusing human “friends”. You never have to wonder what a reindeer is thinking. If Sven is happy, he jumps around. If he’s mad, he snorts. If he’s hungry, he eats something he’s not supposed to. Clear signals. Meanwhile people say things like “I’m fine” when they are very obviously not fine. How are you supposed to deal with that? You can’t. Which brings me to the real problem with people. Unpredictability. Reindeers are consistent. People are chaos. One minute someone is smiling and shaking your hand and the next minute they’re yelling because your sled accidentally knocked over their decorative ice sculpture. First of all, it was in the middle of the road. Second of all, it wasn’t even that nice. Third of all, Sven says it looked like a lumpy snow potato which, frankly, is accurate. So yes, after years of observing both species very closely, I feel qualified to make the following scientific statement: Reindeers are better than people. They’re more honest, more loyal, better listeners, and they never try to overcharge you for hot cocoa. But despite all of this obvious evidence, people still act weird when they find out my best friend is a reindeer. They say things like “Isn’t that lonely?” “Don’t you want human friends?” “Why are you speaking for the reindeer?” Which, first of all, Sven asked me to. Right again, Kristoff. Second of all, I’ve tried having conversations with people, but every time I talk to a real person, it goes bad. Now I don’t know about you guys, but I’m just fine being best friends with a reindeer. I don’t know why it should even matter. Sven is as trustworthy as it gets. And he gives really great advice! Don’t you, Sven? I sure do, Kristoff! People just don’t understand the connection we have. I mean, we were raised together. He’s pretty much my brother. We sleep together, eat together, and use the bathroom together! It doesn’t get much closer than that. But still, people like to judge us for it. And you know what? That’s ANOTHER reason reindeers are so much better than people. Whenever Sven judges me, at least I know it’s for a fair reason! People just love to judge to make other people feel bad. There isn’t a single person in my life I like. When your best friend is a reindeer and your family is a bunch of interdimensional healers, you start to realize how bad people are. All they do is beat you, curse you, and cheat you. Every one of them is bad. Except you, Kristoff! Thanks buddy, but now’s not the time. Oh, and don’t even get me STARTED on royalty. Royalty in Arendelle acts so high and mighty you’d think they personally invented ice. News flash, they didn’t. Ice has been here a lot longer than crowns have. I would know But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I get into the many, MANY reasons reindeers are better than people (and believe me, I could write a full ice harvesting manual on this topic), I should probably explain how I got here in the first place. Because you don’t just wake up one day and decide, “You know what? My best friend is going to be a reindeer and everyone else can go fall in a snowbank.” That kind of lifestyle takes years of disappointment. Let’s start with my childhood. I didn’t exactly grow up in a palace. Or a house. Or anything with walls, really. I grew up with the ice harvesters. If you don’t know what that is, imagine a bunch of big guys, all trying to grow bigger beards than the other guys, who spend all day chopping frozen lakes into giant blocks and hauling them around while pretending they’re not cold, even though they are cold. Now you’d think working in the ice business would make people tough, loyal, dependable—like reindeers. But no. Half of them complain constantly. “It’s too cold.” “My beard froze to the sled.” “I accidentally licked the ice again.” You know who never licks the ice? Sven. Actually, that’s not true. He licked the ice once. But only once. See? Growth. Sven learns from his mistakes. Anyway, the ice harvesters weren’t BAD guys, exactly. But they were still people, which means they had all the usual problems: arguing, lying about whose turn it was to haul the sled, and pretending they “didn’t eat the last carrot” when we ALL knew who did. (For the record, it was Bjorn. It was always Bjorn.) Meanwhile, Sven and I had a system. A perfect system. If I had food, I shared it with him. If he had food, I guess it was usually my food I was sharing with him, but still, the point is we shared. And when we worked together, things actually got done. For example, a person hauling an ice block complains and drops it then blames someone else. Sven hauling an ice block pulls it like a champion and asks for a carrot. And then I give him a carrot. See the difference? But the real moment I realized reindeers are so much better than people happened during the Great Winter Festival Incident. Now I normally avoid festivals. They’re loud, crowded, and full of people who think wearing fancy coats suddenly makes them interesting. But the harvesters insisted we go into town that year because apparently “socializing is good for business.” So we get into Arendelle, and immediately things start going wrong. First, someone tries to sell Sven a hat. A hat. For a reindeer. Now I’m not saying Sven couldn’t pull off a hat. He probably could. The guy has great antler structure. But the fact that someone thought this was a serious purchase tells you everything you need to know about people. And honestly, I think it hurt Sven’s feelings because he thought they were making fun of him. Then someone else tries to charge me five speciedalers for a cup of hot cocoa. Five. Sven eats entire meals for less than that. And THEN—this is the part that really gets me—some guy says to me, and says, AND I QUOTE, “You can’t bring that animal in here.” ANIMAL? Sir, that “animal” is more polite, more loyal, and somehow smells better than half the people at this festival. And that’s saying something because most people DEFINITELY smell better than reindeers. Well, except you… Oh pipe down, Sven. Anyway, Sven handled the situation very calmly, right, Sven? I sure did, Kristoff. He only knocked over two tables and ate three decorative garlands, which shows his incredible sense of self control. Something humans DON’T have. But the festival disaster taught me something important. Whenever things go wrong around people, there’s always some kind of drama. Someone’s offended. Someone’s yelling. Someone’s accusing someone else of stealing their snow boots. Reindeers are much simpler. Hungry? Eat. Tired? Sleep. Angry? Kick some ice. Clear communication. Which brings me to another point people don’t understand about reindeers. Honesty. Sven has never lied to me. Not once. When Sven thinks something is a bad idea, he tells me immediately. For example, last winter I tried inventing something called the “triple ice sled maneuver.” The idea was you jump three ice ridges with one sled. Very cool idea. Sven told me it was a terrible idea. I didn’t listen. We crashed into a snowbank going faster than Sven when he sees a carrot. But at least Sven warned me first. People don’t do that. People smile at you, shake your hand, and then charge you double for the ice delivery you WEREN’T EVEN LATE FOR. Or they say things like “Trust me, this shortcut is faster,” and then you end up halfway up a mountain wondering why you ever listened to someone wearing silk gloves. Sven doesn’t wear gloves. He doesn’t even have hands. Yet somehow he still makes better decisions than most people I’ve met. Which is why, over the years, I’ve developed a simple rule for life: If a reindeer and a person disagree about something, listen to the reindeer. This rule has never failed me. Except for the time Sven convinced me moss was edible. But that was one time, and, honestly, it looked pretty convincing. Now, some of you reading this might be thinking, “Kristoff, maybe you just haven’t met the right people yet.” And to that I say, unlikely. I’ve met traders, merchants, sailors, nobles, ice harvesters, traveling salesmen, a guy who claimed he could talk to squirrels (he couldn’t), and a bard who tried to write a song about reindeers but rhymed “reindeer” with “bean ear.” Bean ear. I still don’t know what that means. I could probably write a better song about reindeers than that. But that brings us back to the main point of this blog: reindeers are better than people. They don’t lie, they don’t cheat, they don’t pretend to understand ice harvesting when they clearly don’t. And most importantly, they don’t try to sell hats to other reindeers. So yes, my best friend is a reindeer. And I’m perfectly happy with that. Because after years of traveling, hauling ice, and dealing with the many annoying habits of human beings, I can confidently say something that most people are too afraid to admit. If you had the option between trusting a random person or trusting a random reindeer, you’d pick the reindeer too. And if you wouldn’t, you probably haven’t met enough people yet. That'll do it for today. Be sure to come back for my next post: Why Ice Is The Best Element