I had two Thanksgivings.
Which means I had approximately seven helpings of turkey, five helpings of mashed potatoes, ten spoonfuls of broccoli salad, three turkey shaped sugar cookies, a half of a turkey shaped cheese ball, a slice of pumpkin pie, another slice of pumpkin pie, a pint of cookie salad, four days of leftovers and no hope of fitting into my skinny jeans for the rest of my life.
But this story isn’t about me and my uncontrollable urges.
It’s about the pug and his.
Because besides making a few dozen ridiculous and unnecessary choices involving doughnut cake and thirds of everything, I also made the ridiculous and unnecessary choice to bring Chug the damn pug to Thanksgiving at my in-laws’.
I had good intentions. I mean, my nieces like him. And so does my Mother-in-Law. She thinks he’s hilarious.
Also, I knew if I left the little shit at the ranch for the weekend the dog would hitchhike his ass up to the nearest oil site on the hunt for a lonely oil field worker who would let him in his camper, feed him the other half of his steak before inviting the little weasel to snuggle down on the couch with him for the night.
So I loaded him up in the backseat of the pickup between the wine bottles and my bag full of stretchy pants and off we went to hug and visit and play ping pong and Barbies and board games and drink wine and wait patiently for the meal I could smell wafting from the house before we even pulled into the drive.
And all was going well. It was. The pug was behaving himself, sniffing the butts of the other family dogs, making friends, cleaning up crumbs from the kitchen floor, sneaking up on laps, licking faces…
and winking on command.
And then, four minutes before the meal was set to be served, that lovable, crowd-working dog lifted his leg and pissed on the floor smack dab in the middle of the living room and right before my eyes, sending me screaming and chasing the one-eyed monster out of the room and barreling through the kitchen before sliding to a stop in the dining room where I scooped him up and snapped out of my blind rage only to find we had landed ourselves in the midst of a crowd of relatives who had just received news of my cousin’s engagement.
I’m pretty sure my swearing, screaming and all the fur flying was just the atmosphere they were looking for in that moment.
And now the pug’s for giveaway.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch... 
… which cousin?
Husband’s cousin.
hahaha.
Ok. Try this one: Family and friends (about 25 people) gathered for my dad’s 80th birthday, food is on the table, and everyone enjoying a drink in the family room getting ready to dish up some bbq and salads. My two labs, parents’ golden retriever banned to the patio and fenced yard (and enjoying themselves). Someone opened the patio door for some stupid reason, Cosmo runs into the room, is so excited to see everyone … he stops and barfs up some slimy stinky crap all over the carpet right in front of everyone getting ready to eat. !!!!
Everyone looked at me like it was my fault (well, he was my dog) and after watching me clean up the mess, my mom says “Ok. Food’s on, who wants to eat?” There was a collective groan, and my dad said something like, “Let’s all have another drink and eat in about a half-hour or so.”
ACCK! Every family get together since, someone brings this up, and then they make sure Cosmo is locked on the patio until after dinner.
It could have been worse. Really.
Bwahahaha! This makes me feel so much better about my delinquent animal 🙂 Thanks for sharing.
HAHAHAHA this reminds me of my family holidays.
I too brought my dog to his first family gathering/thanksgiving. He was actually well behaved, but my crazy dad kept letting him lick lemon slices because he “thought it was hilarious to see him grimace and pucker up”