Dog Thanksgiving

Dog Thanksgiving

And I do not mean I am giving thanks for my dogs.

I let them out at 6:30 this morning, and went back to bed.  I figured they would chill downstairs and I would get a bit more sleep.

At 7:30 Milly bounded on the bed, and her beard was dripping wet.  I prayed the water was not from the toilet as I let her snuggle for a minute or two.  Then I headed down to make coffee and start the day.  As I was measuring the coffee, I noticed that there was debris scattered all over the kitchen.  The trash compactor had apparently remained ajar last night.  This was like an invitation to the Country Buffet for my two hounds.  They had slipped their heads in, and summarily transferred  the contents from the compactor to the floor.  As the coffee dripped into the carafe, they slithered to the far corners of the house in shame. They knew they were bad.  They just could not stop once they saw the opening.  Steve tried to summon them for discipline, but only Milly was dumb enough to obey.  It was loud and ugly, but non-violent.  Her ears were so low they dragged on the floor. Mabel just ran to the sliding door wall to begin her exile.

Turns out they had a delightful repast.  There were L Woods rib bones from Steve's birthday party on Monday.  Egg shells, which they rejected, were stomped into mosaic sized  shards so they could extract the macaroni and cheese tins to slurp clean.    They sampled cornhusks that had been peeled off of tamales.  In the powder room, I found the  plastic container that had formerly held 12 stale sugar cookies.  The cardboard box from an apple strudel was a delicacy; it looked like soggy swiss cheese.  I could tell Milly was the offender who licked the powdered sugar off the Mexican Wedding Cakes container because her fur was like concrete.  There was strudel caramel sauce in her whiskers.  I knew that they would both  be sick.

And they were.  Milly was so ill that she retched onto her front paws and sat still, stunned.  I had to lift her into the sink to hose her fur off.  Then they were banished to the side yard again, just in case. After a sufficient period of alienation, they were allowed to re-enter the house. Mabel came in through the garage, where she discovered a garbage bag with our turkey carcass in it.  Undaunted, she chewed a hole, dragged the remains out and set about to eating.  I shudder to think how violent her sickness would be if she had made progress.  Incorrigible is a term that comes to mind.

Steve gave me stern warnings not to feed them this evening.  I disobeyed.  Tis the season....

Tomorrow we will start to deck the halls.  We will not have a Thanksgiving#2.   Decorating for me, football for Steve.  I plan to trim the room with the big TV so he either feels guilty, or helps.  I'll let you know how it goes.

The truth is that I started the porch today, but it is not finished.  Steve says it is perfect and understated.  A)  I am never understated at Christmas, and B) that is way of curtailing my wretched excess.  FAIL.  Pictures tomorrow.

In the meantime,  I bought  Dominick's turkey breast for sandwiches for tomorrow's dinner....and two cans of Paul Newman's organic turkey dog food for them. I am an enabler.

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  • :-)

  • Always makes me realize where the comment "sicker than a dog" comes from. I think my dog would eat anything and everything.

  • This was too funny-- although it certainly wasn't funny for you at the time!

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