Ghost of pheasant past
Had ourselves a sweet little Thanksgiving. Daniel and I baked us a pheasant, with cornbread apple cranberry stuffing, smashed ‘taters, chinese long beans an gravy. My mom wrangled Sam for us while we cooked, bravely fending off his megalomaniacal toober and zot arsenal
We roasted gourmet chocolate striped marshmellows over a cozy fire, colored in a crazy, egg-layin’, fire breathing dragon and watched Millions.
Twas quite the nice, tender, yummy, silly, sweet family evening. But the best part was really the following morning.
We were all snuggled into my big ol’ queen bed(well, not my mom, she sensibly went home). Sometime during the night Rain(Kirsten’s beagle) came in and mashed our feet down into a good dog-shaped bed.
I got up, showered, came back to wake up the boys so I could drop them off at their various locations and get my ass to work.
me: ‘Sam, look who’s in bed with you!’
Sam blearily raises his head to see-gasps in horror and gloms onto Daniel, burying his head in D’s armpit.
me: ‘It’s just Rain honey, it’s just the dog!’
Sam(gingerly peeking from safety): ‘I thought it was a dead pharoah!’
Daniel and me: ‘????!!!’
Sam: ‘You know, that thing we ate for dinner…’
me(comprehension dawning): ‘The pheasant!’
Sam: ‘Yeah.’
D and I(helpless laughter).
We all laughed our butts off about it all the way to Daniel’s house.
Behold the bird, somewhat gamey, but WAY better than a dead pharoah.