Archive for November, 2011

You guys out there from other places need to understand Thanksgiving. It’s when family you haven’t seen for ages and friends you only rarely see gather around a bountiful table and FEAST…after a heartfelt prayer. Lately, my Mom has been ailing, so I decided my lady and I should cook dinner for her…and it’s ALMOST done.
The only thing left to do is THE TURKEY; I mean…you GOTTA DO IT. Thanksgiving without a turkey is just another big meal. We made dirty rice, green bean casserole, and oyster dressing…not so easy these days since the oil spill…not so cheap either.  Everybody wanted candied yams, which I don’t PARTICULARLY enjoy but made anyway…along with broccoli and cauliflower au gratin, and pecan pie.  To make the yams more interesting, I soaked the raisins in dark rum.  They’re wonderful, but the yams are…you know…YAMS.
Tomorrow morning in the wee hours when my lady is fast asleep at my side and Angel pretty much the same at my feet, I gotta get up, wrap in a heavy robe, season a HUMONGOUS bird, and throw it into the oven. Then…I ASSURE you…I plan to crawl back into my spot, kick the electric blanket up to 3 or 4, and float away into dreams. I mean…WHY NOT? We got all kinds of stuff like smoke and fire alarms…and one neighbor who gets up BEFORE the glint of dawn. The house won’t burn down…not with Angel and that neighbor on the watch.
I figure it’ll take about four hours to do the deed, so that should make it ALMOST DONE when I finally wake up again…but I tucked in an ESCAPE CLAUSE. I’m sort of braising it…always tender, always JUICY, so even if I sleep a little longer than I wanted to it should be just about right. Then all I have to do is take the bird out, let it rest and make giblet gravy. To tell the truth, I use those little gravy packets you find at the supermarket and use pan drippings for the liquid.  Purists may object, but what the hell…it’s DELICIOUS!
So…whatever you’re doing, wherever you are, even if you’ve never had a Thanksgiving, I want to wish you a happy one.  Things are kind of puny in this country lately, but life is short and troubles of one sort or another will be with us forever.  Our Creator is always up there in majesty and love…and He should be thanked, even when things get dicey…and we, at least, always make it a particular point to do so in late November.  So…HAPPY THANKSGIVING, Guys…and pray my turkey turns out okay.  At least, I KNOW the cranberry sauce is good.  I tasted it…the oyster dressing, too!  Now…where did I put my electric knife?

A funny thing happened today. I had a lot to do and got up very early, and when I was leaving just after dawn, I looked up at the sky and closed the outside door, the one with the doggie door Angel and Baxter use…but NEVER that early in the morning. That was maybe around 6 or so. I went all over the place, got the oil changed on my Jeep, checked out my mom’s malfunctioning central heating, got a haircut, then on a whim went to Scott to get some boudin and gratons. By the way, they were WONDERFUL, but when I got back home around noon, I was in for a surprise.
Turns out, I had LOCKED Baxter out for most of the morning, and it also turns out it had rained…and he was soaked and PISSED when my lady finally let him back in, not just pissed, ROYALLY PISSED! It’s kind of fun watching a little fur ball be pissed. I mean…WHAT CAN HE DO? Strut around and growl? Baxter NEVER growls…and barks even less, but later in the afternoon when I decided to take a nap, he was up there in the bed with me, growling and barking almost constantly at Angel, not a full-throated bark, more like a yodel, which seems to be his idea of barking.
Even funnier, he seems to blame Angel and my lady for what happened…not me, and when my lady gave him one of my worn-out socks to woo him back into her good graces, it seems he decided I was his only friend…and that sock was his own PERSONAL, reassuring treasure. He’s STILL carrying it around. Of course, when my lady calls him, he IGNORES her, but all I have to do is lift a finger and he’s RIGHT THERE, tail wagging and eyes dancing.

His brain is the size of a walnut, but his sense of personal pride is IMMENSE, a little dog with TONS of attitude…and apparently a pretty good menory…even if he doesn’t always get the subtleties all that well. Of course, my lady, the ultimate tree-hugging animal lover, is devastated. “YOU DID IT,” she says. “and he blames me…WHY?” “Dunno,” I answer, “but it looks like you got a problem. It’s gonna be interesting to see how long he remembers all this.”
From the way he’s been acting, I suspect it’ll be a lot longer than she hopes. Actually, the only REAL victim I can see in all this is Angel…completely peripheral to Baxter’s personal tragedy and totally innocent…but somehow included in his circle of blame. The only one he lets off SCOTT FREE is me, and of course, I milk it every chance I get, petting him lovingly, giving him treats, letting him sit on my lap while I work the Sudoku in the morning paper…to my lady’s and Angel’s UNENDING dismay.
I keep telling them it’s incredibly EASY to fake out a little bitty dog, but it doesn’t seem to give them any comfort. My lady wants FORGIVENESS, which I think is both unnecessary…and much to abstract a concept to fit comfortably in a dog’s NOW consciousness…while Angel only wants peace and quiet, which isn’t likely for quite a while either, and I don’t really want ANYTHING…just the love and adoration of a little dog who feels like he’s been screwed.
I don’t know how to tell him this, but he’s in for another shock pretty soon when we take away those little Garbanzo beans he seems to treasure so much. My lady is torn about it, but I’m not. Little studs whiz all over the place, and I want to do it BEFORE he starts lifting his leg. I know it’s going to make him pretty unhappy for a while…probably a long while…this dog seems to keep a grudge…but I’m trusting on my luck holding…and him blaming my lady and Angel again. Makes sense to me; he’s ALREADY decided they’re the bad guys.
If he understood complex English, I’d explain to him that it’s all part of the drill. How you deal with the trials and frustrations ALL sentient creatures experience becomes a measure of your intrinsic value to the biosphere, but I’ll just have to let the philosophy ride. He’s has to work things out on his own, however dogs do it, but I can pretty much guarantee you, particularly after the next deed is done, he’ll be only SLIGHTLY friendly to my lady when he wants to be fed and to Angel when he’s bored out of his skull and wants to play. My lady keeps trying to explain to him that he’s got it all wrong and they’re on HIS side…but like I said…not a CLUE.
And now she’s blaming ME…for being thoughtful in the grey morning hours, mindful of the impending rainstorm, and doing my best to keep them all safe and happy when I left the house, but actually, I think she’s kinda pissed, too, mostly because I’ve enjoyed such hilarity from the whole situation…while steadfastly remaining the ONLY FRIEND he acknowledges at this point. I keep telling her, “He dog;we people…there’s a DIFFERENCE,” but it doesn’t help…and that’s more the pity. Dogs can be hilarious…and a lot of fun…but you can’t take them too seriously. It’s IMPOSSIBLE to explain things to a walnut.