An Ode to Snacksgiving

I smelled it the moment I opened my eyes. The air was different. Rich. Magical. My tail thumped a rhythm. “It’s the Day,” I whispered. “Snacksgiving” The hoomans were loud. Clattering pans, laughing, moving in a happy dance between the warm box and the noisy cold box. I did my best to help. I licked a dropped yellow cube. It was buttery. A good omen. The doorbell sang! More hoomans arrived in a wave of new smells, head pats and “good boooys.” I performed my pathetic pup act perfectly- sad eyes, gentle tap, staring... It works every time. A piece of cheese. A bit of bread. A mystery crunch. Then… the main event. The hoomans all sat. The best spot was below the great wooden sky. I took my post. It was a symphony of falling food. A gravy drip. A green bean. A glorious, buttery, skin-on piece of potato. My jaws were swift and grateful servants. But then… the motherlode. A whole slice of the big bird! It fell like a feathery asteroid of joy. I scarfed it. I didn’t even chew. This was Snacksgiving. My holiday. My belly felt full. Very full. Warm and heavy. The world got… fuzzy. My legs decided they were on vacation. thump I was on the floor. The happy voices above me became a distant hum. I drifted into a wacky dream. A giant, floating turkey was chasing a squeaky carrot in the sky. Everything smelled like stuffing. It was wonderful and confusing. I woke up hours later, cozy on my bed. The hoomans were on the big soft rectangle, making sleepy sounds. One of them rubbed my head and said, “Someone had a big Thanksgiving.” I sighed a happy, contented sigh. They think they had a big day. They have no idea. —Toby 🐾