It’s doesn’t take a holiday to make me thankful my Mum saw a last-minute Craigslist post about me. She scooped me up before I was taken to the Humane Society, and I’ve had a wonderful life ever since. For our Thanksgiving celebration this year, I don’t know what Mum has planned, but I’m pretty sure she can’t top last year’s mountain trip. We started out with the usual suspects—Mum, Dad, the Royal Critter Sitter, and a few others.
Things got lively when Nurse SarahAnne, another favorite critter sitter, arrived with two friends. They got down on the floor with me, chattered away about my soft wavy fur, my big brown eyes, and how I’d perfected the Royal Belly Rub Position; and then they took me for a long walk in the cold crisp mountain air. I was in heaven.
Soon, the activity in the kitchen got frantic and loud. Folks called, “Can we put the veggies in the oven? Is the dressing warm enough? Is the gravy ready? Oh no, the rolls are burning!” As if the noise level wasn’t high enough, more guests arrived, bearing food and cocktails. My crew had already gotten into the wine, but suddenly, champagne and some kind of mule drink were on offer. I didn’t know mules drank. We dogs don’t, but we get a kick out of watching the antics of our peeps when they do.
Among the new guests were two boys, ages nine and six. Let me tell you; those boys didn’t need cocktails to get them going, though they managed to remain calm at least through dinner. Seventeen people sat down for dinner, and in no time, it was over. The only problem I saw was that all the table scraps went into the garbage; none hit the floor where I might have been able to snag a few.
After dinner, folks got comfy in front of the roaring fire or returned to the table for games. The game contingent was amazingly lively, but that youngest boy took the cake. He jumped, ran, dove into a pile of pillows, and did it all again. He’d pet me, then dart away. When his Mom asked whether I was good with kids, Mum replied, “Yes, but I don’t think he’s ever met one like yours!” By the time his Granddad took him home, I was exhausted.
And, that’s when I got in trouble. It wasn’t my fault! The aroma of turkey scraps was too much for me so I snuck into the garbage. Boy, did that cause an uproar! Someone exclaimed, “Banjo’s in the garbage,” while the hostess worried I’d eaten turkey bones. Mum couldn’t help laughing as she shooed me away and cleaned up the mess. I’m smart enough not to eat bones; I just licked up all the turkey juice I could find. Ummm, Ummm, good.
By then, it was bedtime and was I ever ready. I was so worn out; I didn’t move from the bedroom rug all night and Mum had to wake me up the next day. I’ve come to the conclusion rambunctious youngsters are better suited for puppies than they are for mature Royal Dogs.
When Mum and Dad loaded me into the car to go home, I settled down to snooze. It took me several days to recover, but I’m still keen to see what fun Mum has in store this year. As long as the day includes cold weather walks, belly rubs, and turkey scraps, I’ll be a happy boy. May your Thanksgiving be as happy as mine is sure to be.
Write Lord Banjo and his mum Kathy Manos Penn at kathmanospenn.com, and find “Lord Banjo the Royal Pooch” on Amazon., visit