In our house, it is just my wife and I. Well, that and our four furbabies.

So after we spend thanksgiving with my cousin and his family, we have a special one at home geared mostly for the children.

We call it affectionately “Nomsgiving.”

The tradition has existed in our home for nearly two decades and neither one is sure where it originated.

But, our dogs are sure of the time of year and can tell by the smells and are salivating.

There are certain traditions that we follow each year, and this year, I am going to let Roswell, our resident Dog interweb specialist describe them.

Well hoomans, Roswell here:

Nomsgiving is a special time each year that our hoomans demonstrate their hunting skills. They go into the big box of food, and hunt for a big bird, kill some potatoes, and a bunch of apples for a pie (I like pie)

My mommy usually needs my help in the kitchen. Even though she screams for me to get out of the kitchen. I think, honestly, she is intimidated by my interweb learned cooking skills.

It starts with me wanting to supervise the preparation of the big bird. Not the yellow one on Seasame Street (though, I bet he would be tasty too), but a big bird nonetheless. I bark at her trying to remind her not to put too much thyme or rosemary on it, but she insists.

Once she opens up the oven, I need to stick my head in to investigate the oven burners. The last thing we need is one of them to go out during the jump to cook speed. Last year, I could swear the oven wasn’t working. I ordered my brother Bill to climb into the warp core.  It was working, but I am sure he is still mad.

Of course, mommy isn’t too keen on my looking over her shoulder, so she shoos me out of the kitchen. I leave, but I have found a loophole in walking out of the kitchen and walking right back in.

Wait. Is there screaming and cussing? Daddy must need my help. Let me scurry off and save him.

I wonder why Daddy is cursing at the fake tree? Why bring the bathroom inside? Does that mean I can go inside?

Hmmm, not sure why he is mad, but it has something to do with, “one light goes out, they all go out!?”

I guess I can Google it. 

Well, back to the nomsgiving preparations. 

I can smell the apple pie. Did I mention that apple pie is the goodest nom ever? It is. 

Well, I can tell that she is at a delicate stage in the cooking because she threatened my furry backside if I don’t get out of the kitchen right now. 

I think that mommy needs to relax and not worry about my being in the kitchen. After all, despite her claims, not once has she tripped over me.

Well, dinner is done. The tree is casting a nice glow on our plates as we get some hooman food mixed in our kibble.

Only one thing left…

And that is to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving from Michael, Franchesca, Jada, Bernie, Bill, and myself, Roswell.

May your nom bowls be filled and your fur warm.

 

Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination. You can follow him at www.storyoveracup.com