Sage here, and I’m officially stumped.
I usually understand human patterns pretty well… treat noises, walk noises, the tragic sound of “we’re leaving without you.” But this week? My humans turned the kitchen into some kind of high-intensity research facility.
Pans clattering, cupboards slamming, timers beeping, and smells so powerful I’m convinced the oven achieved a new metallurgical transformation phase.
And through all of it, they kept saying one strange word:
“Thanksgiving.”
Never heard of it. Didn’t trust it.
Then the doorbell started ringing like a malfunctioning alarm system, and suddenly the house filled with humans. Laughing, hugging, carrying bags full of suspiciously delicious aromas. I sniffed each one. Some familiar. Some new. All promising.
When everyone sat at the big table, I followed and discovered an entire forest of legs: crossed legs, swinging legs, fidgety legs. A structural maze. Naturally, I ventured in. The smell concentration under there? Off the charts. Turkey. Gravy. Bread. Pumpkin something. My hypothesis: if I waited long enough, gravity would deliver.
A tiny piece of turkey slid off someone’s plate, down a pant leg, and landed directly in front of me. I inhaled it with the speed and precision of a dog who takes his work seriously. Then another piece. And another. Eventually, hands appeared beneath the table offering controlled samples.
I sat back, satisfied.
Okay… maybe this “Thanksgiving” thing had potential.
So I curled up under the table; warm, full, surrounded by legs and laughter. While I still don’t fully understand the purpose of the event, I do know one thing:
I’m thankful for whatever it is.
