|My ancestors were there at the First Thanksgiving!|
I’d defrosted it and attempted to make my VERY FIRST roasted, perfectly golden, scrumptious Thanksgiving turkey. In my head, at least, that’s how I imagined it. It would be just like my mother’s at home.
I set the pathetic half-cooked turkey on the tiny fold-out table in the living room while my husband, Tom, checked out the oven. (We had about a foot of counter space and that was totally occupied with salad makings.)
|This is an Alsatian, a lot like a German Shepherd|
The other half of my poor turkey, all dog-mauled and slobbered on, lay ruined on the unclean floor. Thanksgiving ruined!
|My dear parents in North Carolina. They are both gone now.|
|Mom and I a few years later.|
It was unimaginable to me. I began to get really upset!
He MISSED his perfect strike! The axe nicked the side of “Charlie’s” neck! In terror and pain, he launched himself right off those nails on the tree!
It was OVER. I could not stand to see the final desperate minutes of “Charlie’s” life.
That nasty Boxer trotted close on his heels. The aggressive boxer had brought my bird down and enjoyed chewing and shaking him until he expired. It was a ghastly, horrible way for my beloved pet to die. I was speechless with agony.
Never again could I look at a big dog the same way.
It reeked so bad, they gave up after a few minutes of angry exchange between them. Apparently, that dead, chewed-on turkey was really stinking up the place after they put it in hot water! Mom ran to the bathroom, to vomit, and Dad had to bend over and gulp fresh air, eyes bugging out. I ran to my room crying in anger and grief, but smiling inside.
Even dead, "Charlie" had his revenge!
Even grosser and Dad suffered doing that nasty job. I was glad.
Now we had NO turkey at all to eat for Thanksgiving Dinner. The local stores were closed already that late Wednesday afternoon.
|My Dad back in that day.|
I stayed out of range of both of their BAD tempers. I thought of “Charlie,” of what could have been – a real PET.