On Thanksgiving Day, Scotty and I spent the day with the folks — mine, not his — and he got his first taste of a big Thanksgiving dinner. He didn’t get a lot of people food, because I’m doing my best to keep him on as strict a dog food diet as I can. But he definitely got to sample a variety of Mom’s culinary delights.
He tried to play with their dog, a 13-year-old Maltese mix who is very opinionated and wants everything his way. This little dog doesn’t consider himself a dog, and to actually spend time playing with a dog, well, that would be beneath him.
But Scotty was active and playful all day on Thursday, and didn’t sleep much on Thursday night when we stayed over. He woke up on Friday raring to go.
By the time I got him home Friday afternoon, he was still keyed up. With a full belly.
On Saturday, it hit him. Hard.
He was zonked most of the day. He walked into his pen and sacked out, his head on his pillow. (No, he’s not spoiled at all.)
Sunday, he was back to his normal self, but I suspect that he’d be ready for another road trip for more of Mom’s turkey dinner at a moment’s notice. Just before we left, I weighed him at the local Petsmart: he’s up to 70.2 pounds. That was before his Thanksgiving feast. I shudder to think what the scale would say for him now!