There is a lot of preparation involved in Thanksgiving.
The turkey.
The potatoes.
The stuffing.
The table.
The good dishes that apparently live in a cupboard for 364 days of the year.
And, somewhere in the middle of all of it, there is usually a dog who has been standing in the kitchen since approximately 8:17 in the morning.
He would like to help.
Nobody has asked him.
This has not discouraged him.
The cat, meanwhile, appears completely uninterested in Thanksgiving.
This is an act.
Because Thanksgiving with dogs and cats is a little different.
There are more people in the house.
There is considerably more food than usual.
There are coats piled near the door.
There are children dropping things.
There are grandparents who cannot be trusted with the phrase “Don’t feed the dog.”
And for one day, almost everyone you love is gathered in the same place.
The pets may not understand why.
But they certainly understand that something important is happening.
The Preparations
The kitchen starts early.
Vegetables are being chopped.
Pies are cooling.
Someone is looking for a serving dish they haven’t seen since last Thanksgiving.
And the dog has taken up his position.
Close enough to observe.
Far enough away that technically he is obeying the instruction to get out of the kitchen.
Every carrot that hits the floor is immediately dealt with.
Every cupboard that opens is investigated.
Every trip to the refrigerator is monitored.
This isn’t begging.
It’s quality control.
The Official Turkey Inspector
Eventually, the turkey goes into the oven.
This begins the longest shift of the day.
The dog sits in front of the oven.
And watches.
Twenty minutes later, he is still watching.
An hour later, still there.
At some point someone explains that staring through the oven door will not make the turkey cook faster.
The dog considers this information.
And continues staring.
There are certain responsibilities that simply cannot be delegated.
The Counter Intelligence Division
The cat has been quiet.
Suspiciously quiet.
Then two ears slowly appear on the other side of the kitchen island.
Followed by eyes.
Then a nose.
The counter contains turkey, butter, bread, herbs and several other things the cat has absolutely no business investigating.
The cat understands this.
Which is why the investigation must be conducted covertly.
Nobody has noticed.
Except you.
And possibly the dog.
The dog can be bought.
The Guests Arrive
The doorbell rings.
The dog loses his mind.
Apparently the family has arrived.
More importantly, the dog’s family has arrived.
There are grandparents.
Children.
Aunts.
Uncles.
People carrying pies.
People carrying wine.
People the dog hasn’t seen since last Thanksgiving and is greeting as though they have just returned from a dangerous five-year expedition.
The cat watches from halfway up the staircase.
The cat has reviewed the situation.
There are now eleven additional people in the house.
This meeting could have been an email.
The Kids’ Table
Every experienced Thanksgiving dog understands one fundamental truth.
Adults have rules.
Children have poor hand-eye coordination.
So while everyone else is admiring the beautifully set dining table, the dog is conducting a much more important calculation.
Where are the children sitting?
More specifically:
Where is the youngest child sitting?
Within minutes, the dog has selected his position.
Directly underneath.
There will be turkey.
There will be potatoes.
There will almost certainly be something dropped accidentally.
And if history is any indication, at least one item will be dropped on purpose.
The dog is ready.
Grandpa Is a Weak Link
Dad said not to feed the dog from the table.
Mom said not to feed the dog from the table.
Everyone heard it.
Including Grandpa.
Grandpa waits approximately seven minutes.
Then one hand quietly disappears beneath the table.
The dog is already there.
Nobody sees anything.
At least that’s what Grandpa claims.
The dog suddenly chewing something suggests otherwise.
Grandpa maintains there is no evidence.
The dog refuses to cooperate with investigators.
The case remains open.
The Cat Has Taken Your Chair
You get up from the table.
Perhaps you need another drink.
Perhaps you’re helping in the kitchen.
Perhaps you’re gone for eleven seconds.
It doesn’t matter.
When you return, there is a cat sitting in your chair.
Not beside it.
Not near it.
In it.
The cat looks comfortable.
Everyone at the table looks at you.
Apparently this is your problem.
You consider moving the cat.
Then you pull over another chair.
The cat knew you would.
The Family Photograph
Eventually someone says the words everyone has been dreading.
“We should get a family picture.”
People are gathered.
Children are rearranged.
Someone finds Grandma.
Someone else finds the dog.
The cat cannot be found.
Then the cat is found.
Then the dog disappears.
The dog returns.
Someone sets a timer.
Dad runs into position.
The dog looks left.
The cat looks right.
One child closes their eyes.
Someone else is talking.
The photograph is taken.
It’s terrible.
They try again.
It’s worse.
Years later, naturally, it will be everyone’s favourite picture.
Before Something Goes Under the Table
Thanksgiving is one of those days when pets tend to discover that humans are unusually generous.
A little turkey here.
Something from Grandpa there.
Perhaps a child quietly sharing dinner beneath the table.
But not everything on a Thanksgiving plate belongs in a dog or cat’s bowl.
Some simple foods may be perfectly reasonable to share in small amounts, while rich dishes, seasonings, bones and certain ingredients are better kept away from pets altogether.
So before the dog convinces you that he has never eaten before in his entire life, it’s worth knowing what’s actually safe.
Because he will make a compelling argument.
He has been practicing all morning.
The Walk After Dinner
Eventually the plates are cleared.
Everyone has eaten too much.
The house is warm.
And someone suggests a walk.
Outside, the air is cool.
Leaves cover the sidewalk.
The sun is lower now.
The dog, despite having spent six hours supervising dinner, suddenly has unlimited energy.
For a little while, Thanksgiving becomes quiet.
No oven timers.
No dishes.
No negotiations over leftovers.
Just family walking together through an autumn afternoon.
And a dog who has absolutely no idea why everyone is moving so slowly.
The Cleanup Crew
Back at the house, the kitchen looks like something happened.
Because something did.
There are dishes everywhere.
Serving bowls cover the counter.
Someone is wrapping leftovers.
Someone else has started loading the dishwasher.
And finally the pets are permitted to perform the jobs for which they have been training all day.
The dog inspects beneath the dining table.
Thoroughly.
The cat supervises from a nearby counter.
Also thoroughly.
A pea is discovered.
Then a tiny piece of potato.
The dog continues searching.
There may be survivors.
The Thanksgiving Coma
Eventually the house becomes quiet again.
The dishes are mostly done.
The leftovers are packed away.
Someone has put on a football game or a movie that nobody is really watching.
Dad is asleep in the chair.
The dog is asleep against his leg.
The cat has somehow ended up on his chest.
Nobody planned this arrangement.
Nobody is particularly interested in changing it.
Tomorrow the house will return to normal.
People will go home.
The good dishes will disappear back into the cupboard.
The dog will resume pretending that his regular dinner is a profound disappointment.
The cat will reclaim the house.
But for tonight, everyone is still here.
What Thanksgiving Really Looks Like
Pets don’t understand Thanksgiving.
They don’t know why the turkey took hours to cook.
They don’t know why people drove across town or across the country to sit around the same table.
They don’t understand traditions.
They certainly don’t understand why the good plates only appear once a year.
They understand something simpler.
The house is full.
Their people are home.
Someone they haven’t seen for a while just walked through the door.
There are familiar voices in every room.
Grandpa is still an extremely reliable source of turkey.
And when the day finally becomes quiet, there is a warm place beside someone they love.
Years from now, we probably won’t remember whether the potatoes were perfect.
We won’t remember how the table was decorated.
We may not even remember what was served.
We’ll remember the people who were there.
The terrible family photograph.
The walk after dinner.
Grandpa secretly feeding the dog.
The cat stealing someone’s chair.
And perhaps, when we look back at those old photographs, we’ll notice someone else who seemed to be there for all of it.
Under the table.
Beside the fireplace.
At our feet.
Or asleep against us when the day was finally over.
They didn’t know it was Thanksgiving.
They just knew everyone they loved was home.
