Diva is a good girl, except when provoked by Thanksgiving Turkey!
My 13 year old, mild mannered, previously obedient, Lassie look-a-like, collie was overcome by 6 hours of odiferously splendiferous waftings coming from my oven.
From the moment that I unwrapped the raw bird to begin seasoning, on the day before the Thanksgiving cook-a-thon, Diva's long pointy nose lifted straight up into the air, twitching, as a cold, moist Geiger counter of poultry.
From our beginnings together, Diva has been a good citizen. She is gracious in the company of children and other dogs; she even has a few cat friends. "Out" has been a sure fire command to release whatever was in her mouth, from a ball to a ham sandwich.
Diva has become deaf with age and more and more, marches to her own drummer.
Yesterday the SS Good Behavior ran aground on the rocks of temptation and baser impulse. Drawn in by the siren song promise of giblets and gravy; moral compass spun awry; the possibilities of a pointy nose and a broken cupboard door; behind which lurked a Pandora's box (otherwise known as the kitchen bin or trash can) turned my exemplary canine into The Princess of Darkness.
A couple of times during our evening festivities I noticed that Diva was eating something. Twice I removed slices of bread from her mouth, before understanding that, due to lack of table space, someone had placed the bread basket on the floor. Next, I saw her with her head in the kitchen bin/trash and looked for someone to blame who was fool enough to have left it open.
I happened to be watching later on when Diva inserted her nose into the small gap between the door and the cabinet and pulled it open to reveal her sought after treasure. She grabbed her trophy, which was a whole turkey wing; eight inches of potential harm to an old dog; and put her head down in an attempt to complete a chew/swallow manoeuvre before having a human hand (mine) thrust into her jaws to rescue her from herself. I was unable to grab fast enough and I couldn't believe the whole bony thing had gone down her throat. I was simultaneously preparing to perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre and wondering about the possibility of getting her to the 24-Hour veterinary clinic in time when I was lucky enough to be presented with a second chance. Thank goodness that the turkey came back out for an encore bow. Diva made a valiant effort to crunch down on the turkey, catching my fingers in her slathering maw for good measure.
Poor girl. Dreams of next Thanksgiving are all I left her. For me it was a happy ending. Diva's not convinced.
