I spent Thanksgiving this year with the girlfriend’s family in Carmel; a good bunch to spend the holiday with, and a great place, as well. Weather was perfect, food was plentiful, and the people were fun. Her great-Aunt Lee even complimented my legs as I left to get in some morning PT.
I’ll take it.
But the humans are just, well… the human part of the family. There are two dogs, as well. The Lab is pretty unremarkable – a good thing for a dog to be. The Shepard, however, is trouble. He’s the kind of dog you have to keep tabs on, because if he ain’t with you he’s into something you don’t want him in. Like, four surgeries worth of stuff.
Always good for excitement, he didn’t disappoint. Someone noticed he wasn’t around, so the first place to look was the kitchen. Can you guess where this is going? There, on the floor, was the just-fried turkey, right breast torn into, and I recall a leg separated as well. Yells were heard, the family summoned, and since laughing was the only option, that’s what we did. Then we ate what remained of the turkey with our hands. An hors d’oeurves, or sorts, if the hors d’oeurves were also the main course… which was still a go thanks to a little foresight and preparedness; two turkeys remained on deck to pick up the slack.
Beyond that it was dinner, replete with botched prayers (which there isn’t such a thing), thanks and remembrances, and stories and more laughter, all of which eventually migrated to the patio fireplace for mild drinks and music.
It’s been a good year.