This past Thanksgiving, that husband of mine and I packed ourselves into the truck and headed to Bismarck, ND, to dine with dear friends who promised turkey, stuffing, gravy, and all the trimmings.
They made it sound like a cozy little gathering—just us and them—so naturally I imagined soft music, candlelight, and perhaps my husband politely pretending not to notice me having thirds.
Well. Imagine my surprise when, one by one, people began showing up like we’d accidentally RSVP’d “YES” to a community potluck for the entire tri-state area.
Every time the door opened, in walked another “poor soul,” clearly under the impression that this was their invitation, too. I smiled, nodded, and tried to remember names, which is hard when you’re still trying to remember if you even brushed your hair that morning.
It was an almost three hour ride to the state Capitol and their beautiful home.
Now, one year ago, I gifted this sweet couple a little dog—a teddy bear breed, fluffy and wide-eyed, adorable enough to convince even a hardened criminal to melt into a puddle. My friends quickly became model dog parents.
Homemade treats, matching sweaters, stroller rides…the whole nine yards. So imagine my face when I learned what they lovingly named this precious fur-child – Jodi.
They named her after me. Yes, dear readers, I have reached the stage of life where people are naming dogs after me. I don’t know whether to feel honored, flattered, or concerned that future generations will think the phrase “Stop licking the couch, Jodi!” was aimed at a woman.
As the crowd mingled and the food rolled out, I took my seat—half at the adults’ table, half at the kids’ table, because that’s where the fun is—when suddenly I heard someone shout -“Jodi! Stop it!”
Naturally, I froze. Fork mid-air. Spine straight. Eyes wide like a raccoon in a spotlight. But not one single person was looking at me. I cleared my throat. “Um…why do I have to stop? ”
No answer. Just more bustling, more chatter, and then—“Jodi! Lay down now! “I wasn’t even standing! I checked! My knees were bent at a perfect 90 degrees, like a disciplined church lady.Then came – “Jodi. Want nun-nums? “ I was confused by the question because I was, at that very moment, stuffing my face with the most delectable green bean casserole! I was about to answer after I swallowed but another command came. ” Jodi! Stop putting your butt in Betty’s face!“
I’d had enough! “Excuse me?” I quickly learned Betty was not a guest. Betty, for the record, is the other dog. A bulldog mix who looked equally confused about why a grown human woman was blinking rapidly in her direction. There I was, trying to maintain my dignity while sharing a name with a small, adorable creature who apparently had no boundaries, no manners, and no shame.
Every command shouted at her ricocheted directly into my soul. By dessert, I’d developed the reflexes of a well-trained Labrador. So if you ever want to feel both important and personally attacked for no reason, spend Thanksgiving with a dog who shares your name.
To all of you readers of the Devils Lake Journal – may your holidays be joyful, your tables full, and may no one yell “STOP!” at you unless you actually deserve it.
Happy Holidays, friends! How was your Thanksgiving?
