Why Lera is Thankful, Even Though She Hasn't Stuffed Her Face...

It's coming up on 7.00 PM here in London and I am not full. Actually, I am pretty damn hungry. Today I ate a bowl of cereal, an apple, and a chocolate cupcake. This is not some kind of radical diet (although I will admit that last year's cupcake and wine diet did wonders--really--for my waistline). No, this general lack of food, even on America's great feasting holiday, is merely the function of being too busy to eat.

I have to admit that I completely forgot about Thanksgiving. I had considered making a pumpkin pie, and was certainly going to make a trip to Waitrose to see if I could stock up on tins of pumpkin. But then I forgot. I had to clean the house, walk the dog, pack for the weekend...I spaced it!

But I did have a nice surprise during my daily walk through Richmond Park. Moose, in all of his adorableness, started a conversation with a nice American couple. Yes, the conversation was littered with a few demands on my part that Moose stop jumping up on his new friends. But it also involved a very warm, very surprising wish of a Happy Thanksgiving.

It got me thinking. Is it really Thanksgiving if I don't spend the whole day cooking a meal that will later make me feel ill? Is it Thanksgiving without the pies? The traditional Nichols family cheese grits? The drunken cranberries (which I hate but always put on my plate and ignore)?

I think my answer is no. Thanksgiving is stupid.

But that doesn't mean that I have not spent at least part of today thinking about what it is that I am thankful for. I am thankful, first and foremost, for having a wonderful, loving family. And I am thankful that even though it is painful to be away from my family, I HAVE a family to miss. I am thankful for the most wonderful boyfriend, best friend, and partner anyone could ever have. And I am thankful for Moose, even though he makes life a little more...er...colorful than usual. I am also thankful that my other baby, my darling doggie, Lander, is being well looked after by my parents. I am thankful for wonderful friends, wonderful opportunities, and the wonderful days that have made up this past year.

Thanksgiving IS a stupid holiday. But I will admit that it isn't stupid to take some time to think about the good things. There are a lot of good things in my life.

So for all of you who ARE eating an insane amount of food today: Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy your meal. Don't drink too much!

And I love you all.

FLB

OK, I'm not gonna lie to you. Moose is a furry little bastard. I say this in the best way possible, mind. Really, I love my puppy, and I think he adds a lot to my life. Namely, he forces me to get off of my duff and walk for at least two hours a day (read: work off the beer gut I have developed sitting around London with no job and a very close, very yummy local pub). But when it really comes down to it Moose really is as I described. Furry. Little. Bastard.

The first time I came to this conclusion was about two weeks ago when Moose peed on the floor five times and pooped on it twice. And not all on the wood floor, either. The dog knows perfectly well that we would prefer him to adjourn his bodily excretions to the outdoors and yet he does it inside on occasion. It's not to spite us, I think, but rather just to exercise a little bit of independence and power. He is not a dominant creature, you see, but has a glint of adventure in his eyes...

The second time I really noticed the FLB in him was when he got thoroughly muddy in the park (OH, he is super excited about water in the park!) and then proceeded to bite, claw and bark his way out of the bathtub, to the extent that our carpeted bathroom was like a pool and my arms were scratched like a chicken coop. Bastard!

And then there was this evening. Oh yes, the FLB knows how to make a stressful evening that much better. I shall set the scene. This evening Matthew's uncle was scheduled to visit. I have known this all week but I held off on cleaning the house until the last minute because let's face it, I have a fourteen week old puppy whose purpose in life is to make a grand mess. I will admit, I left things a little too long. Look, the new Twilight movie came out today and I had to spend two hours gawking at rather well-built teenage boys with the other young women of Richmond, right? And oh, the abs on those guys... Ah, but anyway! I made a quick stop at the grocery store on the way home and remembered that Matthew was out of milk for his coffee, so I bought I pint. I would like to call this a rookie mistake but I knew better than to put the groceries on the sofa (which I did) and to leave Moose unattended (I confess) while I went to start cleaning the kitchen.

You don't really feel too bad for me, I suppose? Even when I tell you that Moose chewed little holes into the pint of milk, which then allowed milk (my nemesis) to be spilled all over the sofa? Yeah, I deserved it. But it doesn't mean that he isn't a furry little bastard!

Because then I took him upstairs while I made the guest room bed. And you know what? That FLB proceeded to pee not only on the floor but on the duvet, which I had (stupidly) put on the floor while I was putting the sheets on the bed.

And because after that (while the sofa cover and the duvet were in the wash), he greeted Uncle Mark by peeing on the floor! Again! Welcome, Mark!

BASTARD! Furry little BASTARD!

But then look at him there in his kennel. Look at him curled up and peaceful, looking up at me with his little doggy eyes. He's so sweet. He's so soft. He so...damn it...

He's soooo cuuuuute.

Teetotaling: An Essay on Restraint

All of you real child parents are going to roll your eyes at yet another child-puppy comparison but you are going to have to bear with me. As a puppy-momma and not a baby-momma (knock on wood and fingers crossed for that remaining my reality), I have no choice but to compare my furry situation to yours. Whatever. All parents know that there is no greater gift in the world than a visit from the grandparents. The elusive but highly prized grandparent visit provides even puppy parents with the wonders of free day care, extra puppy training, and date night.

Enter Gmom and Boompa, the homeless wanderers who came all the way from Jackson, Wyoming to meet their granddog.

And to go to the pubs, of course.

They met Moose during a rare moment of Moosey good behavior, and fell in love with our little angel. "Remember," they said, "he IS just a typical puppy. He's really very sweet." "Aha," said I. "He is only tricking you into complacency so later he can bite your toes, attack your computer cable, and walk off with your shoes (which he will then hide under the table and demolish, like a bully who has stolen your school lunch)."

The denying grandparents spent their first day on Moose duty, happily doting on their newest grandpuppy and teaching him new tricks, like how to manipulate his way into yet another snack. They also met me at the Red Cow (Pub #1) for a lunchtime sharpener (as Matthew's boss refers to a workday pint) and then the White Horse (Pub #2), which stands only about 300 feet from our house, for dinner. Did I tell you that I love hanging out with Gmom and Boompa?

Their second day in town saw two major revelations: Gmom and Boompa were introduced to Richmond Park and Moose was introduced to the largest needle either of us has ever seen. Moose's final puppy vaccinations were administered that day, and with those came the dreaded microchip, which was injected into the flesh behind his shoulder blades with a needle as big as, I shit you not, a knitting needle. I mean, this thing was MASSIVE and would have had me hiding in the woods somewhere and refusing to come out. Not that I have ever done that or anything...

Naturally, Moose wanted to sleep all afternoon so we took advantage of his early morning stabbing and went to Richmond Park. We saw deer. And then Gmom had to pee so we went to find the loo. We saw trees. And then Gmom had to pee so we went to find the loo. We saw ponds, cranes, and a looming rainstorm. And then Gmom had to pee so we gave up on the park and went to find the pub (The Dysart Arms, Pub #3 and honestly the least comfortable pub in the entire world).

It was still raining after the weirdo pub visit (I mean, really, what kind of a pub doesn't serve crisps? Or nuts?), Matthew had to run off to Claygate to do something musical and intelligent, so we did the thing that comes most naturally to us. We went to the Marlborough (Pub #4) for dinner. Yum. We also stole a pint glass, but you didn't hear that from me.

Of course, after all that pubbing, Gmom once again had to pee. So you don't have to have much of an imagination to deduce that we found toilet relief (not to mention a couple of pints) at the White Cross (Pub #5), which sits in an ideal location right on the Thames.

The third day of their visit was...oh God, I don't remember most of it. I think we probably played with Moose. I may have had some coffee. I know we went to Borough Market. And then Matthew and I went wine tasting for three hours while Gmom and Boompa went back to Richmond to liberate the Moose from his Moosery. Very kind of them.

After the wine tasting, Matthew and I (in the company of one of Matthew's brothers and his wife) ended up at another pub (Pub #6). Meanwhile, Gmom and Boompa ended up at one called the Mad Hatter (also Pub #6). Somewhere in there we had dinner, somewhere in there we went to another pub (Pub #7), and somewhere in there I may or may not have started singing and giggling on the train.

Day four was a day of penance. Once again, poor little Moose spent the day in jail while we collectively paid for our sins in a church marathon. We gathered at St John the Divine to hear Matthew play the organ at the service (and to whisper gossip about the congregants). Later, we gathered at St Paul's Covent Garden to hear Matthew play the organ for the Evensong service (and to sing hymns in fake opera voices and make fun of Boompa as he slept). The day of solemn worship, of course, ended in a pub (Pub #8) and dinner at the best Thai restaurant ever, our favorite, Patara. Mmm.

Day five was my personal crowning glory. The day started with Moose's first ever walk! I strapped on his cute little collar and we went for a nice walk down my street, toward the White Horse. As soon as the White Horse came into view, Moose pulled on the leash, broke through the collar, and ran like a meat-covered shoe was waiting for him just around the corner. I caught him, but I'll be damned if I didn't come close to wetting myself out of motherly terror.

Once the Moose was once again detained, we went to the Natural History Museum to look at the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibit (always good). We visited the hall porter at our old flat and drank Gingerbread lattes and ate bananas. And then...a pub. Only this didn't turn out so well.

We went to the Jerusalem Tavern, one of London's tiniest and cutest pubs (Pub #9, if you're still counting). Matthew left work to meet us there. And yet...it wasn't serving food. Boo. So we adjourned to The Olde Mitre (Pub #10), another cute and adorable pub. And yet...no food. BOO! So Matthew gave up on our pub crawl and went back to work like a good little boy while Gmom, Boompa, and a seriously annoyed and hungry Lera went to the Black Friar (Pub #11), one of our favorite and most consistent pubs. Success!

You see where this is going, don't you? The end of day five, the night before Gmom and Boompa had to fly back to Wyoming? Incidentally also the day Moose decided to run for freedom right in front of our neighborhood pub?

You guessed it. The White Horse for dinner. Pub # 12. But here is the kicker. The White Horse is dog friendly, so we brought our little fuzz ball to the pub (Pub #1 for Moosey), where he was welcomed with a bowl of water and a biscuit. Moose was very helpful to us! The wait staff loved him, which helped us get our drinks swiftly. He also helped us with the pub quiz (well, he helped and so did Boompa's Google-equipped mobile phone), and led us to second place! Woohoo!

OK, so it was a big weekend for us. Even though Moose spent much of his weekend in jail, he still had a grand old time. He survived the microchip. He tasted freedom, if only for a few brief seconds. He visited his first (and surely not last) pub. He was renamed Lord Moosely Mooserton of Moosechestershire (don't ask, just go with it). And, most importantly, he gave Gmom and Boompa a reason to come back. And soon.

We had fun, G and B! Cheers!