Turkey stuffing

Fig loves Thanksgiving. Roast turkey, in particular; he used to follow me about the kitchen all morning while I prepared the bird, hoping I'd drop a gizzard or two while he waited for the main event. One year I wrestled unsuccessfully to turn an especially large turkey part way through the cooking process and it slid to the floor; Fig's eyes were as large as the bird itself. For days after Thanksgiving he would take his post in front of the refrigerator door, as if willing the leftover turkey inside to leap into his mouth. There was always a brief mourning period when the last of the turkey was consumed, before the countdown to next year's Turkey Day began.

Yesterday I had the good fortune to dine with friends, so I didn't have the dubious honor of preparing and roasting turkey myself. They were kind enough, however, to send me home with a generous supply of sliced meat. Fig could smell the turkey the minute I walked through the door, and he began begging for it, despite the late hour. He has a special turkey radar, I think; it is quite impressive. Even this morning he bypassed his customary plead to go outside and strode expectantly into the kitchen, straight to the refrigerator.

So today, after stuffing himself with turkey, Fig had a long post-Thanksgiving nap, only to wake up and ask for more. Ask Fig to name his favorite holiday and it's certain he will look you straight in the eye and say "Thanksgiving!" Would that we all could answer with such clarity when asked what we want.