October 10th, 2017
The Canadian Thanksgiving holiday weekend has now past. Our waistlines are slightly larger after days of feasting. We celebrated on Saturday night, a day earlier than the family normally does. We invited friends to share in the harvest bounty with us. The layering of smells began on Friday with the making of the partridge berry sauce – the North’s version of cranberry sauce. By Saturday morning, I had flaxseed dinner buns baking in the oven. Some family members were disappointed to learn that the smell of fresh buns was all that they could enjoy. I specifically clarified that every bun had to be accounted for at dinner – no sampling. It was a difficult feat for my bun-loving crew to perform. The next smell to permeate the house was the cooking turkey complete with garlic-flavoured stuffing and roast potatoes. I almost forgot to make the wild rice with dried apricots. Fortunately, I remembered with just enough time to spare. By late afternoon, I had prepared the steamed broccoli and could take a well-deserved break.
Bailey was not oblivious to these wonderful smells lofting through our home. Her muzzle was on high alert in case any tidbits found their way onto the floor. She flopped herself down in the kitchen which forced us to step over her to get to the other counter. Bailey was well aware that a turkey dinner meant a night of licking plates and the glorious roaster. Our friends were bringing their own contribution to the meal in the form of partridgeberry apple crumble as well as butternut squash lentil stew. Their arms would be full so we decided to divert disaster from Bailey getting underfoot as she gave her own special Newfie greeting. Bailey was fed her usual dinner fare in her kennel, located in the attached garage. Bailey didn’t seem to mind as she followed her food dish being transported out there. However, she certainly realized the state of affairs when the doorbell buzzed and the voices of her favourite visitors were heard. She woofed as if to say, “Don’t forget about me?”. Clearly, Bailey had found herself on the wrong side of the door. Dinner was ready and people were hungry. Our girl was without an invitation to the feast which the rest of us enjoyed.
Between the smells and voices, our girl plotted her invasion. Our tummies needed a break before sampling dessert. One son began clearing the table and I loaded the dishwasher. My husband worked on serving the dessert. Things were going well. I asked my youngest son to take the pop cans to the garage for recycling. Bailey was patiently waiting until my unsuspecting son opened the door. She suddenly charged past him before he could stop her. “Let her in,” I called. After all, she had been good. Bailey circled each person that she encountered on the way to the kitchen – slobbering and whipping her tail back and forth. As she went through the living room, I heard my eldest son exclaim that Bailey smelt bad. I asked for clarification from the kitchen and was told it was a poop smell. I am not quite sure who suggested that she might have stepped in poop while playing with my son in the backyard before dinner. A quick thinking person opened up the living room windows and sliding glass door. Our girl had successfully stunk up the house. When Bailey arrived in the kitchen, I caught a whiff of her aromatic scent. I was rapidly losing my appetite for dessert. Bailey soon found herself being escorted back to the garage. Her smell lingered a bit longer even after her departure. Ironically, our sweetness did not appear to have poop anywhere on her fur after a quick look. She would need a thorough exam later. Bathing Bailey seemed unavoidable at this point. I pushed that thought out of my head for the moment. Our party once again sat down at the table to sample the fruit crumble. Of course, it was delicious despite the recent mayhem.
The last of the dishes were placed in the dishwasher and the remaining food was put away. My friend and I prepared our dogs for the nightly walk. Try as I might, I could not find the source of Bailey’s pungent odour. The nightly grooming session was my last chance to solve the mystery. As I lifted up her tail to brush underneath it, I heard her. My girl had gas. I had forgotten about the chopped up broccoli stalks in her dinner. I had given a very generous portion to her. Bailey had contributed her own festive aroma to our Thanksgiving Day celebration. It was a ripper of a good time.