Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving With the Twins
On humor, rubber chickens, and thankfulness
Note: The following story is written by Keke, a Biewer Terrier puppy and author of Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human.
Thanksgiving brings a houseful of guests, including three young boys.
Oh boy, I love kids!
Liam, the older one, is a little reserved, but the twin five-year-old's, Conner and Logan, are ready to rumble like a South African rugby team. My kind of peeps.
The first thing the twins notice is the large orange button on the floor by the front door. It’s there for me to push when I need to go out, and when depressed, a recorded voice says, “Pee-pee!”
Conner steps on the button.
“Pee-pee!”
The boys giggle. Logan pushes it.
“Pee-pee!”
More giggling. It’s Liam’s turn.
“Pee-pee!”
Peals of laughter.
It’s an inside joke, and I am on the outside.
The adults turn on the television, and for the moment, the boys settle in to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade. Grogu, Scrat, and Pikachu float overhead like clouds from another world while dancers below undulate in waves like a field of yellow poppies. Grogu’s hovering pram ball veers side to side like a leaf blowing in the wind, and Goku from Dragon Ball appears to be having a bad hair day. Kind of like I look after playing “find the puppy” under the blankets.
After the parade, we go to the lake to feed the turtles and fishies. Not too many fish by the docks today, but there are three or four giant turtles. The boys heave fistfuls of food at the water, the dock, and innocent bystanders.
Hey, make them work for it: no free treats around here!
I’ll teach those turtles to fetch. I pick up some of the misfires. Pa-tooey! It tastes like overripe avocados compressed into little brown cardboard nuggets. I’ll leave this lesson to the kids.
Once the boys have exhausted both the supplies and the turtles, we go home. Tantalizing aromas fill the house. I salivate over the smell of oven-roasted turkey stuffed with sausage-pecan stuffing, a roast seasoned with garlic and rosemary, and onion potatoes.
What do you mean, it’s not ready to eat yet? Just put it down here, and I’ll keep an eye on it for you.
It’s time to play “Pin the hat on the turkey.” One by one, the boys are blindfolded and spun around.
Hey, who are you calling a turkey? Unstick that hat from my head!
With no warning, little rubber chickens are suddenly flying across the room. There must be four hundred, and the boys are throwing them everywhere. They stick to the walls, the ceiling, and Daddy’s head. Some of them fall off, but others cling. Daddy takes the chicken off his head, only to have another one land there a moment later.
I have to admit, that was funny.
A minute later, I hear, “Pee-pee!”
Someone moved the button, and now the sound is coming from the living room.
Hey, Momma, I think those boys need a potty break. Why don’t you take them out?
Football games are on T.V. Who’s playing?
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The twins are! It’s a different kind of “football,” but more to my liking. Conner starts the kick-off with my purple soccer ball.
I am Megan Rapinoe facing down the famous Swedish soccer duo in the deciding match of the Women’s World Cup. Conner passes to Logan, but I’m too fast for them. With a menacing growl, I steal the ball, fake left, then drive right. I’m within one yard of the goal when a foot collides with my mouth. Ughhh. Timeout called.
But this rugged American winger is on her feet before the timeout is up. Emitting a loud bark, I hit the ball with my nose, sending it flying past the surprised Swedes to score the game’s first goal.
Logan has the ball. But Conner tosses my dragon toy onto the field. He’s trying to bait me, but I’ll show him how I deal with this illegal maneuver. I spring on the surprised dragon, which erupts with a spout of flame and a loud c-r-u-n-ch! The field is totally under my control now.
But wait, Logan dribbles past me and punts an easy goal. I can’t believe I fell for that.
Then again, I still have the dragon, and Conner wants it. He’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead mouth.
R-r-r-i-p! How did he get that dragon away so fast?
I’ll show him. I get my mousie toy.
Wait, was that my squeaky eel that Conner just threw past my head? Grrr-owl.
I’ll get it back. What’s Lamb Chop doing on the field? Hey, you leave her out of this!
Was that a rubber chicken that hit my butt? And my head? And my side? I pick up a rubber chicken in my mouth, climb to the back of the couch where Logan is hiding, drop the chicken on him, and run away.
“Hey!” I hear from behind the couch…
Thanksgiving Dinner is finally served. Everyone sits at the dining room table, and Liam asks us all to say what we’re thankful for.
I’m thankful for my Lamb Chop stuffie and my squeaky mouse. I’m grateful for Mommy and Daddy, who love me, steal the blankets at night, and wake me up at 3 AM with their snoring. I’ll share my bed with them anyway.
And I’m thankful for Liam and the dynamic duo of human tornadoes who have endless giggles, love to throw my toys, and shoot rubber chickens across the house.
Yawn. I’ll close my eyes for a minute while I wait for leftovers.
I wake up. I’m in bed, next to Mommy and Daddy. The morning sun is peeking through the blinds.
I race down the stairs and into the living room.
Conner? Logan?
The house is silent, and the living room is empty. I check the guest bedroom. It’s unoccupied. I run to the front door, and the orange button is back in its usual spot. I step on it.
“Pee-pee!”
Not a sound in the house.
Hee-hee. I press it again.
“Pee-pee!”
This is silly. I hear Daddy getting out of bed, but I can’t resist.
“Pee-pee!”
“Okay, Keke, I heard you the first time. I’m coming!”
Ha-ha-ha!
What a great Thanksgiving. When will the boys be back?
Tagging some of my favorite authors on Medium: Lu Skerdoo, Freya V. Locke, Dawn Ulmer, Trisha Faye, Jay Squires, Diana Pippin, Patricia O'Neill, Amy Sea, Laurie Leiker
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