Sweetie’s Thanksgiving (Featuring Turkey)
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By Sweetie, Herald K9 Correspondent
I hear this is the time of year when everyone is supposed to sit down and talk about what they’re thankful for. Humans light candles, get sentimental, and say things like “family and friends” while I sit there very calmly thinking, “You forgot turkey.”
So, in the spirit of the season, I have prepared my own official Thanksgiving gratitude list. My human says it needs “depth” and “heart.” I say it needs gravy.
First of all, I am thankful for my family. Snack Dad, who somehow develops a mysterious case of “Oops, I dropped it” every time turkey appears on a plate. He will deny this, but I am a trained observer and also the one catching the evidence before it hits the floor.
My human, who starts planning Thanksgiving about three weeks early and somehow uses every dish we own in a single day. The whole house smells like vanilla, butter, and confusion.
Underneath all that, I can always pick out one important scent rising above the rest. Turkey.
I am thankful for my house. I live in a place where there is a sunporch chair, which is obviously mine, no matter where she drags it in the name of “holiday decorating.” I can see the yard, the street, and any suspicious activity involving cats, delivery trucks, or, if fate ever truly smiles down on me, free-range turkeys.
I am thankful for my town. I live in where people wave when they drive by, stop to say hello, and smell vaguely of casseroles. Sometimes they bring treats “for Sweetie,” and sometimes those treats are shaped like little bones, which is fine. But I have also noticed that, around Thanksgiving, some of those same people walk in carrying pans covered in foil, and the air around them whispers one word.
Turkey.
I am thankful for long walks in cool weather, where the leaves crunch under my paws and the air has that sharp edge that wakes up all my senses at once. My human says things like “Look how pretty!” and “Isn’t this nice?” and I agree, because it is. It truly is.
And yet, as we stroll through this beautiful autumn landscape, I cannot help but think, “We could be at home. Watching the oven. Guarding the turkey. Priorities.”
I am thankful for the little things. For the sound of kibble hitting the bowl, even if I know there is better food within a five-foot radius.
For the way my human absentmindedly drops a tiny piece of cheese while she cooks, then says, “Well, it’s already on the floor,” as if I have not been waiting there for this exact life event.
I’m thankful for the big things too. For love, for feeling safe, for having a warm roof over my head. For people who treat me like family instead of “just a dog.” For the way they talk to me like I understand every word. I do, by the way. Especially “turkey.”
Always turkey. With gravy.
