Our Thanksgiving dinner was fabulous, even though I forgot to buy the cranberries not to eat. Now is the best moment of all, though. Koko is barking at the leftover dinner rolls, trying to convince one (or more) to leap from the plate into his mouth. He'd be barking at the turkey, but he can't see it; that plate is in the center of the table. He keeps accidentally batting Laramie with his tail, too engrossed to notice she's nearby.
When he began barking, though, she took up residence on Michael's lap on the couch.
And now it's quiet again, with Koko stretched out on the rug staring at the table, dreaming of the turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and everything else he can't reach. Michael and Laramie are getting heavy-eyed. I, myself, hear the bed calling my name.
We're grateful on this, our sixth Thanksgiving together, for Michael's niece and nephew, whose baby William Landon was born strong and healthy two days ago; and for the health we have; and for Kokomo and Laramie and Larry and Hoddie and Pebbles, my daughter's three-legged dog. And all of the friends we know and love, north, south, and around the world: we're grateful for you, too.
And art. I'm grateful for art. And large creations. And the determined way in which Michael and I are using low-grade problem-solving techniques to get some control over our ADHD. And I'm grateful that my mother sounds joyous every time I talk to her.
Koko has found a new approach. He's now approaching the dinner rolls from UNDER the table, poking the tablecloth up with his nose. In truth, he could reach them; but he's uncertain about whether his body will be trapped if he takes that one final step that would give him a treat. So he's given up on that approach and is now sitting in front of the table staring at them. I'll let you know if we have the only dog in the world who can make food levitate from table to mouth.