A belated Turkey-Day post.

Started this on Thanksgiving, forgot to post. Anyway, a few moments of TG at SA's hidden (but well lit) lair.

- The Tour -

The calm before the storm:



As you can see here, we are well stocked for a guest list of 40. Sadly, we only have nine coming. I smell leftovers!



You will notice that I have some Jager on the left. It may be the last thing left that is mine, all other personal items have been systematically deleted from the home.

I don't drink it (it's probably 5 years old), it just hails from my youth...

And here we have a giant bird cooking, covered with a pomegranite molasses glaze. More like an ostrich than a turkey...



I may go vegan after the horrible things I had to do the that poor bird's body cavity.

The kitchen preparing for the flurry of food prep that is to come:



The table is set with expensive china and an assortment of eclectic (read: folding) chairs:



The chair I've never sat on:



Fuzzy parasites that are cute enough to be allowed to cohabit this lair:



And finally, we come to the staple of all inimate family gatherings - the booze:



I hope the foodie holiday was good to you and yours.

SA

I'm thinking my dog just might be a zombie.

Once upon a time, I was mauled by a big dog.

I was four, and he plucked me off my Big Wheel and shook me like a ragdoll. I ran home, and I got a line of stiches on my right arm, and a cool scar that I carry to this day. It sucked, but I did get a 12" GI Joe during recovery, so it wasn't all bad, IMO. Never underestimate the power of toys in times of trauma.

I vowed never to own a dog. Ever.

Then I got married.

I married into a pair of pets (package deal, you see) and when it came time for me to choose a pet of my own, I wanted to start with something small, something that could never maul me.


Meet my puppy:






























A googlie-eyed Pug with endless energy, and a love of water. This dog will take a shower or bath with you every single day if you let him. He has an older Pug brother that he spends his days with locked in eternal battle for either high ground or favorite toy.

Every so often, in an effort to protect our valued possessions, I stock up on new toys for him to chew on.

Here is his newest toy:

A nice little toy with two squeakers and a rope running through it for endless tug-of-war. I felt this was the perfect toy for them, it should last for quite a while, and I smugly went about my life.

36 hours later, I happened to find this toy on top of our comforter, except now it looked like this:



Oh my God. . . he sucked out it's brains!! There is almost no stuffing left in this thing. He even ate the squeaker.

I am afraid to sleep at night, I'll have to crate him before he kills again. . .how can I protect myself and my family?

The only thing I know about doing in zombies I learned on "Kolchack, The Night Stalker". It required packing it's mouth with salt and sewing the zombies lips shut, but that seems a tad cruel, and no way am I putting my fingers near his rows of fangs. The bite might cause me to become a zombie.

What to do?