Uncle Bob and Grandma’s Thanksgiving Turkey

As we’re all preparing to chow down on Thanksgiving Dinner, I’ll just offer another story about our beloved Uncle Bob the Giant Mutant Mountain Poodle that is in keeping with the season.

I have previously posted about Bob’s death, his unfortunate demise of systemic cancer when he was only 8 years old. He had by then become so much a part of our family that we tried everything we could afford to try when the vet said his condition could be treated. That meant chemo-for-dogs, and the results weren’t very pretty.

He was diagnosed with cancer just a year after our son had died, and we just couldn’t face another family tragedy – my own father had died of a heart attack just months later, my husband’s father had a heart attack the day of our son’s funeral. We’d had our fill of grief to last some years.

We packed up bob and the rest of the family and headed out to Oklahoma to spend Thanksgiving with my husband’s mother, who had promised to cook her very last turkey if we’d make the trip. How could we refuse? Bob’s chemo had definitely taken a toll by then. His hair had been falling out in clumps, making him look rather mangey, and he was putting on weight like nobody’s business. I’d say that was just the steroids, but his appetite was voracious. Poor guy.

My brother-in-law and his wife and four kids were all there, the four of us plus Bob, and the grandparents. I’d been working all day to prepare all the side dishes, so when the turkey came out of the oven I had set it aside at the far end of the counter to await completion of the rest of the feast. We family members gathered in the big living room to hold hands and give our thanks, and Bob snuck into the kitchen…

By the time Grandma and I got there to put everything into bowls for the buffet, Bob had that turkey on the floor and was finishing off a drumstick, preparing to go for the other one. I was mortified! Grandma’s last turkey dinner, and Bob had ruined it! I prepared all my defenses, feeling very sorry for Bob and not all that sorry for us. My dear mother-in-law, however, surprised me.

She started laughing. I mean, really laughing, out loud. She called the whole family in, bent down to get the turkey away from Bob (who shouldn’t be eating turkey bones, y’know), and gave him a mighty hug with tears rolling down her cheeks. Poor Bob! She loved that dog nearly as much as we did, as he’d assigned himself as Grandma guardian after my father-in-law’s heart attack, never left her side the whole time he was in the hospital and recovering at our house, even slept at the foot of her bed.

She told me her life was now complete, she’d had a turkey eaten by the dog on Thanksgiving! It would be a funny story she’d get great mileage out of forevermore, and not a single member of the family complained that only the breast was left for us to eat. We just washed it off and put it on the table, my hubby carved it like usual, and the kids ate it without a qualm.

We had to put Bob down just a couple of months later, but Grandma still talks very fondly about him and cherishes the story of Bob and her Last Thanksgiving Turkey. Now I roast the turkeys, and she doesn’t have to raise a finger. Grandpa’s gone now, and she doesn’t do much cooking. Yet every Thanksgiving in all the years since, no matter where she’s having dinner, she tells the story and always gets a laugh. You just haven’t lived a full life, she tells people, unless you’ve had your Thanksgiving turkey eaten by the dog at least once!

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