I think of our sweet, little English Setter Trudy each Thanksgiving when preparing to carve the turkey (my husband’s job). Trudy, of all our dogs, was particularly turned-on by the aroma of a turkey cooking in the oven. I imagine her lying in front of the fire, all cozy, rounded up in a ball, catlike-style, dreaming of that tasty bird cooking in the oven for hours. Trudy was such a well-behaved dog. There she would lie, snooze and dream, while the turkey cooked.
One Thanksgiving, Trudy was fourteen years old at the time, assuming her usual place by the fire, Trudy acted on her true intentions. When my husband had finished carving all the meat off the turkey, he tossed the carcass into the waste basket – and within an instant, Trudy moved like a leopard-on-the-hunt, grabbed her prey and made off with it. We stood there, mouths agape, in disbelief. None of us could believe Trudy could move that fast anymore. Trudy was always full of surprised – right through her sixteen-plus years.
Thinking of you today, Trudy, and always.