PEG'S TALES

Hi, welcome to Peg Tales. At the end of each Peg Tale, I always write, "Share a story with a friend...it's a gift!"

This Peg Tale is about someone who shares a story with his classmates and with us. Read about Mitchell, as he tells us, in his own words, the story of his special pet.

"HIS NAME WAS DOG"

One day in class we were talking about the Pilgrims and Indians, and the first Thanksgiving. Mrs. Hinkley, our teacher, was really steamed up about that first Thanksgiving dinner. She asked the kids who ate turkey for Thanksgiving dinner to raise their hands.

I was always told to tell the truth. So, I couldn't raise my hand. I'm kind of shy about talking in front of the class, and I had a feeling this was going to cost me. It did.

Mrs. Hinkley, with her telescopic eye-sight, spotted me.

"Mitchell," she said. "Don't you have turkey for Thanksgiving dinner?"

"No, Mrs. Hinkley," I said. I tried to keep it short.

Mrs. Hinkley kept on. "What do you have for Thanksgiving dinner?" I like Mrs. Hinkley, but she is very curious, always asking questions.

"We have roast beef for Thanksgiving dinner," I said.

Then, she said, "Have you always had roast beef for Thanksgiving?"

The class was very quiet. I knew every ear was tuned into my answer. That's when, shy or not, I had to tell the story.

"No, Mrs. Hinkey," I said. "We've only had roast beef for the past three Thanksgivings. Before we got Dog we always had turkey."

"I'm confused, Mitchell," Mrs. Hinkley said. "Will you tell the class why your dog caused you to stop having turkey on Thanksgiving?"

The class laughed. Then I said, "Dog is the name of our turkey." The class laughed some more, but I kept on talking.

One Thanksgiving day, after dinner was over, my mom said she thought the turkey she had spent hours cooking was dry, tough, and tasteless. We didn't want to hurt her feelings, but when she asked us if we thought so too, we had to say yes.

In fact, she said she thought our Thanksgiving turkeys had been tough ever since Uncle Ben died. See, Mom's Uncle Ben owned a farm and raised turkeys. He gave all his relatives a free turkey every Thanksgiving.

Uncle Ben raised great turkeys. We always went to the farm to pick up our turkey. I remember seeing hundreds of them. They made a lot of noise, and they kind of smelled, but, man, were they good eating.

Anyhow, after Uncle Ben died, they sold the farm. That year Mom bought a frozen turkey. The next year she bought a fresh turkey. She was right, they weren't as good as Uncle Ben's turkeys.

That was when my Dad had this idea of raising our own turkey, sort of like Uncle Ben did.

One day he came home with a really young turkey. When we asked him how old it was, he said it was just a pup. So, we named it Dog.

We have a lot of stuff to feed him. Dog gets grain and vitamins. We feed him snacks, and he likes any junk food that has cheese in it.

We tried to keep Dog in the cage Dad built, but he had a turkey fit. He just wants to be outside with us. He cruises through the garden all day, picking up bugs and stuff. Dad says he has a pest-free garden, thanks to Dog.

Dog doesn't leave our yard. He just hangs out on the back porch when he isn't chasing bugs and picking through the grass.

He likes to sit on the back of the rocking chair on the porch. He can actually get the chair to rock with him.

The class laughed. I thought, hey, they must like this story. So, I kept on talking.

Dog isn't mean. He likes to follow us around, and he gets all excited when we play Frisbee or volley ball. He has a loud gobble. If a car drives in the driveway, he gobbles, like he's guarding us, like a dog would bark. He hates cars, won't go near a car.

Dog is really big. His grain, garden bugs, and junk food have turned him into a huge turkey. We like Dog a whole lot. He's a cool pet.

When Thanksgiving was getting close that year, nobody said anything about having Dog for dinner. We couldn't talk about it, but we knew that was the reason we raised him.

About four days before Thanksgiving, my dad said, "Okay, everyone, let's get Dog into the car. I'm going to take him to a place that will fix him for eating."

I took off for my bedroom. Mom went to the basement to do laundry. My sister went next door to see her girlfriend.

I looked out my bedroom window and watched Dad back the car out of the garage. He opened the trunk. Then, he went for Dog, who was sitting on the back of his rocking chair.

It was like watching one of those old-time movies. Dog came flying off the porch. Dad right behind him. Dog went around behind the garage. Dad speeding after him. Dog came screaming out from behind the garage, gobbling away, but Dad was falling behind. Dog went through the garden and around the house. Dad was running out of gas.

The it was quiet. I heard the kitchen door slam. I went downstairs. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table. His face was red and he was in a real sweat.

He looked at me and said, "Thanks for all your help."

I was sorry I hadn't helped him, and I said, "Dad, how could we eat Dog?"

"You're right," he said. "We couldn't eat Dog."

So, that's why we have roast beef for Thanksgiving. Dog sits on the back of his rocking chair and watches us, through the window, while we eat dinner.

I sat down because that was the end of my story. When the class clapped and cheered, I was really surprised. My best friend, Bill, yelled, "Way to go Dog!" Even Mrs. Hinkley laughed. I was glad I told my story. I felt good.

That's Mitchell's story about Dog. Have a happy Thanksgiving, no matter what you eat. And, don't be shy, share a story with a friend...it's a gift!

Peg


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