Thanksgiving, Am I Right?

THANKSGIVING, AM I RIGHT?

“POLICE! OPEN UP!”

“Oh God, not again!”

*****

Thanksgiving. The one day of the year that we give thanks for all the good things in our lives. If that’s true, then why does it turn into a shit-show every year?

*****

Glenda looked around the kitchen. Everything was ready.  

“Turkey in the oven — check. Buns rising in the proofing oven — check. Green bean casserole ready to go into the oven — check. Potatoes peeled, chopped up, ready to be boiled and turned into mashed potatoes — check. Pumpkin pies baked and in the fridge — check. Fresh whipped cream whipped within an inch of it’s life, ready to smother the pie — check. Table set — check. White wine in the fridge, chilling — .”  

Glenda paused. It was usually the wine that sent the celebration sideways. Too much of a good thing. Like last Thanksgiving … 

She looked down at me.

“What do you think, Gregory? Should I swap out the regular wine for the non-alcoholic bottles?”

I just looked at her my head tilted to the side, saying nothing.

She bent and scratched behind my ear. “I know, I know, you can’t talk. But you’re the only one here with me right now, so …”

She let the statement hang.

It had been a hard year. Doofus, aka Donald, had decided that marriage was too much of a burden on his soul, and he needed to leave to “find himself.”  

Yeah, right, I thought, Find himself in the arms of his yoga instructor.

That had hit Glenda really hard. Not that they were really that happy, and she had been thinking of divorce, but you know, being dumped sucks. Ask me. Glenda found me shivering on the side of the road five years ago, dumped when I became inconvenient to my first owner. Thank heavens! We’ve been together ever since.

And now it was Thanksgiving. Again.

She looked at me. “I hope it goes better than last year.”

Me too! I thought remembering all the snapping, biting, kicking, fighting. And that was just the humans!  

The doorbell rang. Glenda and I walked to the front door to answer it. No barking for me, because I’m a good boy.

It was her mom and dad. Their names are Natty and Joe, but mostly it’s Mom and Dad. Dad Joe was carrying a giant platter, covered in tinfoil.

“What is that?” said Glenda pointing, the stress lines appearing between her eyebrows.

“Oh,” said Mom, “It’s a turkey.”

Glenda’s mouth hung open.

“A turkey? I’m making the turkey. I asked you to bring the cranberries and sweet potatoes. You agreed!”

“Well, I know. I just thought that since you’re so busy with your new life that I would make the turkey.”

“Mom! Mine is in the oven! Cooking! Right now!”

“I know, but yours is usually a bit dry. I had this one prepared by Chef Henri at the club. He does such a marvellous crisp-skinned butterflied roast turkey with a butter demi-glaze. Accompanied by an excellent cranberry compote.  To die for.”

“What are we going to do for sweet potatoes?” Glenda asked, hands on her hips.

“Really Darling, no one likes yams anyways.”

“Sweet potatoes, Mom, not yams.”

“Whatever,” Natty Mom waved her hand and sailed by Glenda. “Come along, Joe.”

Glenda stood in the doorway, fuming. She turned to me.

“Why can’t she just make the cranberries and sweet potatoes, like I asked? Why does it always have to be all about her and everything fantastic in her fantastic life?”

Before I could answer, the front door opened and Aunt Ella and Uncle George walked in.

“We saw you standing there, and came right in!” bellowed Uncle George. No exaggeration, bellowed was the right word to describe Uncle George. His volume was always turned up to eleven.

He was carrying a platter, as well.

Glenda pointed at it, not believing her eyes. “What’s that?”

Ella piped up, “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but we invited Kevin and his girlfriend Chloe to dinner. She’s a vegetarian … or a vegan. I can never remember. Anyway, I figured we could eat Tofurkey instead of turkey, you know, to respect her life and dietary choices.”

Poor Glenda. Again, her mouth hung open. “I, I wish you’d mentioned this before, uh, now.” She looked at her watch.

“I’m sure you don’t mind.”

Ella and Natty were sisters. Ella sailed by Glenda with the same air of self-importance that Mom Natty had displayed seconds ago.

“Come on, Boys!” bellowed Joe, and the couple’s two Pomeranians, Ethos and Kline, bounded into the house, yapping. They stopped dead when they saw me and started yipping up a storm, lunging at me, trying to nip at me.

“Boys!” said Ella. “What’s that big nasty dog done to upset you?”

“Nothing,” said Glenda. “They started barking at him. Same as last year, and the year before, and the year before that. They bark at Gregory every time they see him. That’s what they do. Every year.”

“I’m sure he did something to upset them. He’s a mutt, you know. They can’t be trusted.”

“Aunt Ella, Gregory is sitting there, not moving. It’s your whirling-dervishes that are causing all the chaos.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure that I agree. I don’t suppose that you would consider putting him outside, or locking him in another room would you? You know, for a while, until Ethos and Kline acclimate.” She turned to look at her dogs. “Poor babies. Too much stress isn’t good for them.”

“No, I will not ban Gregory from his home. But I do have a dog crate you could put your two tornadoes in until they acclimate.”

Good one, Glenda! Verbal air quotes!

I gazed up at Glenda. She was my hero. I sent all my love to her. She rubbed behind my ears.

Ella fake laughed at Glenda. “I would never put The Boys in a crate. They are my fur babies.”

Glenda fake smiled back. “Then maybe you or Joe could get them to settle down. Or leash them. Or take them home if this is too stressful for them.”

Aunt Ella sniffed and turned on her heel and called out to The Boys. “Come here, Boys. Cousin Glenda doesn’t like all the noise you’re making. We’re going to have to settle down or she’s going to put you in a mean old crate.” Ella bent and patted both dogs on the head. “She doesn’t love you the way I do.”

Ella walked away, Ethos and Kline at her heels.

DING DONG

Glenda turned to open the door.

“At least everyone’s on time, this year,” she said to me as she opened the door. Last year Ella and George were over two hours late because they had “another engagement,“ which, judging by the condition that they arrived in, included too much seasonal libation. Hence the really-horrible-awful-Thanksgiving last year.

Glenda opened the door, and there stood Kevin, a white Persian cat in his arms, a woman I had never seen before standing beside him.

“Hey! I hope you don’t mind.” He turned to his companion. “This is Chloe.” He nodded in the woman’s direction, “And this is Mr. Miles Davis, Chloe’s cat. We just call him Miles.”

Glenda just looked at him. “You know I have dog. And your mom and dad brought The Boys.” She turned to Chloe. “You’ve met The Boys, right? Has Miles met the boys?”

Chloe smiled, sort of. “He’s fine with dogs. He still has his claws, and he’s not afraid to use them.” She sniffed the air. “Do I smell flesh? I’m a vegan, and I do not eat flesh. The cooking of flesh offends me.”

Glenda raised her eyebrow, and surpassed and eye roll. “Well, considering that I only found out you were coming two minutes ago, I’m sorry but you do smell flesh. But Ella brought a tofurkey for you to enjoy.”

“I hope you don’t intend on eating flesh while I’m here. That offends me.”

Glenda bit her lip. “We have plenty of vegan options available. I’m sure we can work something out.”

Kevin bent and put Miles on the floor. The cat gazed around the room, his stare locking on me. I looked at him, not moving. I smiled. Miles raised his back and hissed at me.

What the heck! I hadn’t done anything. I was a good boy! Geez, Miles was as bad as The Boys!  

“Hey, Glenda!” shouted Kevin, “Can you control your dog?”

Glenda looked from me to the cat, then to Kevin. “Seriously, Kevin? Gregory hasn’t moved an inch since you arrived. It’s Miles who is all bent out of shape.” She looked at Chloe. “I thought you said he was good with dogs.”

“I said he was fine with dogs, not good. I’m sure your behemoth did something to upset him.”

Glenda shook her head. I could tell she was getting angry. “No, Gregory did nothing. He hasn’t moved since you arrived. Maybe Thanksgiving dinner isn’t the best time or place for my dog to meet your cat for the first time. Maybe if I’d actually known you were coming …” She let the sentence hang, shrugging.

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Kevin. He looked around. “Maybe you could put Greggo outside, or something.”

Glenda literally whirled on Kevin. “No I cannot. This is Gregory’s home. You’ve brought your cat into his home. He’s perfectly behaved. And it’s Gregory, not Greggo.”

Just then Miles took a swipe at me. I backed up, and woofed gently at him.

“See!” screamed Chloe, pointing at me, “He’s out of control!’

At that moment The Boys came running in and lunged at Miles, who, with claws extended, swiped Ethos’s … or Kline’s (I can’t tell them apart) nose, drawing blood. The dog shrieked in pain, and the other dog lunged at Miles, who ran up my leg and launched himself from my back onto the nearest side table, sending all of Glenda’s mementos crashing to the ground, shattering.  

Ow! Ow! Ow!  

Miles had left puncture wounds all up my thigh and across my back. Blood was starting to ooze and drip on the floor. Glenda grabbed a cloth and started dabbing the wounds.

“It’s okay, Gregory. It’s okay!” she cooed in my ear. "You're a good boy!"

Dad and Mom came running in, Ella and George on their heels.

“What’s going on here!” demanded Mom.

“That beast attacked Miles!” shouted Chloe, pointed at me.

I looked at Glenda. There have only been two times that I have seen Glenda mad. Once was when Doofus left, and the other was right now.

“No, Chloe, that is not what happened! Your cat took a swipe at my dog, who backed up and woofed — didn’t bark — just woofed. The Boys came barreling in, and charged the cat, swiped Ethos’s nose, drew blood, then climbed up Gregory’s leg, which is also bleeding, thank you very much. Then Miles jumped on the table, skidded across it, and broke all my stuff. That’s what happened!” She turned to Kevin. “Who brings a cat to Thanksgiving dinner? A Thanksgiving dinner they weren’t even invited to?”

Kevin stood there open-mouthed.

“I don’t think you need to use that tone,” said Mom Natty.

Glenda turned to her.  

“Really, Mom? Really? You, just as much as anyone, have co-opted this dinner. You brought another turkey for dinner. I already have a perfectly good turkey!”

“I’m sure she was only trying to help,” chirped Ella.

“Oh, I’m sure. Just like you were only trying to help by inviting Kevin, Chloe the “do I smell flesh cooking” vegan to dinner without asking me. And their cat. And you let The Boys run wild in my house. Put a leash on those little monsters!”

Ella's mouth hung open in disbelief.

Glenda looked at everyone crowded around the front door, and took a breath.

“I think that all of you need to go. Now. Thanksgiving is over. Take your food, your animals, and leave.”

Just then there was pounding on the door.

“POLICE! OPEN UP!”

“Oh God, not again!”

Glenda turned to Ella. “What do you mean, ‘not again’?”

“Nothing. Just the last time The Boys and Miles got together, there may have also been breaking glass and screaming. Law enforcement was called.”

Glenda opened the door to a uniformed police officer standing there.

“Your neighbours complained about a fight with screaming and breaking glass. Is everything okay here?”

Glenda pointed at Kevin. “He brought a cat to Thanksgiving dinner.” She pointed at Ella and George. “They brought their Pomeranians. The dogs do not like the cat.”

The officer looked dumbstruck.

“Who brings a cat to dinner?”

“Right?” said Glenda. “But, everyone is leaving right now, so there should be no more chaos. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

He eyed me, and the blood on the floor.

“Cat meets dog,” was all Glenda said.

The cop nodded.

“No problem.”  

He looked at the group huddled around the door, the cat hissing from on top of the side table, Ethos and Kline running around in circles barking Ethos spraying blood everywhere, Mom, Dad, Ella, George and Kevin arguing. Chloe trying to pick up Miles, who was hissing and swiping at her. And me. I was just sitting there, quietly, beside Glenda. Being a very good boy.

“How about I stick around until everybody’s on their way. Just to make sure there are no more misunderstandings.”

Glenda looked at the officer and smiled. “That would be great.”

Everyone gathered up their pets and their belongings and left, but not before a chorus of “Well I never …” and “So much for family …” and “This is the worst Thanksgiving I have ever experienced in my entire life …”

Dad Joe came over and leaned in to talk to Glenda. “I can stay if you want. I love your turkey.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “No, but thanks Dad. Mom will loose her bananas if you stay. You don’t want her mad at you. Besides you’ve got a — “ Glenda mimicked her mother’s exaggerated tone “marvellous turkey prepared by Chef. To die for!”

Her dad chuckled. “Thanks, kiddo. Save me some meat for a sandwich. I’ll come over tomorrow.”

After everyone had left the officer looked at Glenda.

“You good? Do you need help cleaning up this mess?” He looked at me. “Your dog looks like he could use some first aid.”

I looked around. For only having company in the house for less than thirty minutes, the place was a disaster. The Boys had knocked over the tray of appetizers, and munched most of them. Then vomited. The tablecloth on the dining room table was askew broken dishes and glasses on the floor. Miles did not go quietly into the night, and had made his last stand on the dining room table before being corralled, and hustled out to the car by Chloe.

Glenda smiled. “No, we’re fine. I’ll just clean Gregory’s injuries.. He’ll be fine.”

The officer looked at me, then Glenda. “Huh! Gregory! That’s my name!” He bent and scuffled my ears. “Pleased to meet you Gregory.”

I put my paw up and he shook it. Then he went back to scratching behind my ears. How did he know that was my favourite?

“He is a good boy, who deserves a medal.” Glenda grabbed another napkin and started blotting the bloody claw marks, which had mostly stopped bleeding.

They both smiled at me. I smiled back.

Then a knock at the door.

Glenda looked confused. “Who …”

She opened the door. There was Doofus, obviously drunk.

“I love you Glenda. Greta was a mistake. Take me back.”

“No,” was all Glenda said, and moved to shut the door.

Doofus jammed his foot between the door and the jamb.

“Take me back! I can’t live without you!”

“No, Donald. We’re done. I’ve moved on.”

He noticed the police officer for the first time.

“Oh,” he slurred. “I see you’re a Badge Bunny now! Couldn’t even wait until my bed was cold before you hooked up with someone else. Slut!”

“You left me, Donald, for Greta. You’re the slut.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, bitch. You’re mine!”

He stuck his hand in his pocket, and started to pull something out.  

Not good!

I leapt, hitting Doofus centre mass. The knife clattered to the ground, followed by his head, then his body. I clamped my teeth on his arm, growling, hackles raised.

“Get him off of me! Get him off! He’s killing me!”

I wish!

Officer Gregory rushed forward, handcuffs at the ready.

He hooked Doofus up, and called for backup. Other officers arrived, and did all kinds of official police things. Glenda fed each of the officers an amazing turkey dinner (no sweet potatoes, though), and not one of them said the turkey was dry.

A Thanksgiving with strangers was so much better than the one with family!