Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and you know what that means! That's right, it means I will be at my grandparent's house, fighting with my Aunt Carla over the last scoop of mashed potatoes. I think I would be just as happy if Thanksgiving included only turkey, mashed potatoes, and rolls. Call me boring, but I don't need all that extra stuff. I don't like yams, I don't like cranberry sauce, and I am very picky about stuffing. I'm actually a very picky person for someone who doesn't cook.
One of my favorite Thanksgivings ever was six years ago at my Aunt Carla's. Her dogs, Rowdy and Randi, had just had eleven puppies. They were all chocolate and black labs. They weren't even a month old on Thanksgiving, because they'd been born on Halloween. We got our dog, Ripley, from that litter. Honestly, I can't think of anything more fun than playing with a litter of puppies for hours. Even taking them outside to go to the bathroom was fun. We all took turns walking outside with a puppy under each arm.
I'm looking at Ripley right now, as she sleeps on the floor, groaning and farting in her old age, and I'm very thankful I don't have to carry her outside to go to the bathroom anymore.
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