Thanksgiving With The Woofies!
By: Laurie-Beth Robbins
I am not procuring a turkey this year, when the Thanksgiving holiday rolls around. If doing such, I’ll merely stand in the kitchen, (AFTER the festive dinner is done), and righteously pick and pluck with gusto until I’ve eaten the entire crackling thing!
In this way, I am in complete understanding with and hold empathetic pain for my dear dogs. After all, these adorable creatures, if allowed, would just go and eat to the point of them puking even. And at least two of them would then gallantly gobble up all of THAT, and as if it’s fine caviar, lifted straight from the Caspian Sea!
It’s a very ravenous and off-putting spectacle to witness, this little “recycling ritual” that my pups so very dutifully do practice. Yes we all have it within ourselves, to quite happily just stuff and then stuff more!
Instead therefore, I am thinking about fish. Maybe seafood will allow this household to proudly hold onto some wisp or wing of willpower this Thanksgiving, or a mere modicum of dignity even, when it comes to luscious leftovers and that almighty “portion control” thing that’s such an impossible feat to even fathom.
What is it about this particular day on the calendar, or that “Thanksgiving Mystique,” that prompts us all to eat as if we’ve just barely survived all this time, and via food rations merely? Or handfuls of gruel!
With this quandary in mind, I asked my Dogs about Thanksgiving. Here is what one of them said…
I’m going to get out of bed on that morning and then go bark at the wall!
By doing this, I’ll burn some several zillion calories, and right away.
This may sound frivolous to all you gorging holiday goers and drunks; but if I can accrue some sneaky “reserve” points right now, then my great and encouraging, “Woofies Weight Watchers Club” will not violently kick my tuchas to the curb!
Then, when feeling more fully awake, quite strong like a bull, and just “cut out of granite,” I’ll brutally smash forward and then quite violently “head butt” my master – my little way of saying “Hello” – before I gallantly run right along, and smell my brothers’ rears, ears, and genitalia.
They say the only difference between mere “brown nosing” and righteous “ass kissing” in this great world is strictly a little matter of “depth perception,” so to speak. And so I am in! Woof-Woof crazy humans! It is Thanksgiving after all. Hear me ROAR!
Let’s face it, when you get all that judgmental stuff (analyzing another’s ilk) so swiftly out of the Thanksgiving way, and before it’s high noon, then we all can so fully be ourselves, and focus forthright intention to more important things going on. (Like eating the insides of a pillow and pretending that it’s my girlfriend, or humping my brother – just to confuse him, and all present company a little bit too – and then “marking” the lower right corner of every couch).
And when those human people just start massaging flasks of oil and handfuls of herbs all around in the crevices and corners of that fat bird? (Or that plump and eerily bumpy excuse for an animal)? The one that sits silently, and as it “tin pan nests” in all its raw and quite horribly pale skin – his fantastic innards having been removed and hidden somewhere amid this Godforsaken house? Well that’s just downright and unequivocally sick.
These folks have some mighty weird customs on this day, to say the least. For one thing, they douse everything with too much pumpkin! Cakes and pies, and soups and more! Then I’ll get a hold of all that orange colored goo, and go have diarrhea upon their bed. (They’ll be too busy playing “hostess with the most-mess” however, and so they won’t even find my little magic mound of holiday cheer, until they’re slipping into slumber land much later on). Heh, heh! Let’s see them covet so much obnoxious beta-carotene concocted crud the next year! I bet they switch to cheese. Silly orange people. What’s wrong with serving plain squash for all our dinner, or potatoes even? Pumpkin…Feh! Don’t they know what that does to a dog’s underwear?
And the relatives come over? Really? The ones my owners claim to hate even? (And the same folk whom my parents insist loathe them)? Why are people so phony when we dogs are just so genuine and real? No worries. If anyone starts arguing, then we pups can just go run and hide under the bed for a bit or two of time. That’s a much better spot to dwell in than most other nooks within reach, and it allows us to readily scream, pee, wolf down those poultry bones that didn’t make it so swiftly into the garbage can, and then gnaw the rug down there a tad more too! But Shhhh!!!! Let’s not let them know.
And whom in all Hades does a patient dog have to bite, to get a walk around here, on this calendar designated, “hectic date,” anyway? It seems these morons simply stand in the kitchen like a bunch of comatose zombie types, or stare at the football that’s on our TV, or worse yet, a good chunk of them just talk and they talk, and they will never shut up! Then they all eat more food – mounds upon mounds of glorious food – even the fat one over there! Incredulous stuff. And they think that we canines are a pack of puffy pigs? Boy are these turkey eaters some meshugenah nutcakes. They haven’t a clue.
And the fireplace is even all a flutter on this day, and yet for some odd reason, the people here seem so very pleased with this said flame! When I ate the charcoal as they prepped it all however, they started yelling! I think they’re manic, these weirdo human types, or that Thanksgiving brings out much neurosis from their twisted lot. Such isn’t Godlike, Doglike, or even that entertaining really. And yet they just erupt, and like little crackpots, left and right! Why can’t these people just chill? Is late November really worth all this fuss? Perhaps they have fleas.
And the libation practices on this particular day are just downright so FASCINATING to observe! I gaze around the room and see who’s well fermented deeply into their wine, and who is frothing right in tandem with their 42nd beer. And then I fixate on the fact that some strong smelling and intriguingly mysterious, “brown liquor” is warming the cheeks of those who stand out on the porch, and sip like Kings!
With this most interesting practice circulating the room, I’ll simply decide that I too should be “drinking” something grand. We dogs get thirsty after all and especially when nobody seems to be remembering to check our water dish on this busy day. But Ooh! I spot Uncle Jack’s unattended fourth tumbler with such murky liquid and just ice. Delish! I’m guessing, or based solely on my first sip anyway, that it’s a Macallan, perhaps a 21-year – and single malt and triple cask matured – and one incredibly smooth mother of a sultry sip of something? But then again, I’ll need to finish the entire glass, in order to really know for sure. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, Thanksgiving!
Cheers! And to a very safe and sensational Thanksgiving for you AND your dogs!
*Laurie-Beth Robbins is a writer, a passionate “Foodie-Wineaux” chick, and a dogaholic. She contributes a column to Dog House Diaries on the first of each month, and lives on the New Hampshire seacoast, with her husband and three dogs: Tabouli, Voss, and Steak Tartare.