It's 4:15, If Ya Know What I Mean......

Time to make the doughnuts.

Okay, in this case, turkey.

Getting up at an obscene hour to cook a turkey on Thanksgiving is a Walker family tradition.

Of all the holidays, I love Thanksgiving the most. No cards, no gifts, no pressure. Just turkey, family, community, and football.

Thanksgiving also holds some of my fondest memories.

Some of those are sad, but I'll not dwell on those today.

Right now I'm sort of *smirking* remembering the "Great Linus Turkey Massacre".

Who's "Linus"?

He was a rather large black and white *Boots* cat. You know the type. Black fur, white paws.

My folks had a tradition of obtaining and roasting big birds for Thanksgiving. Having five young men in the house made it more of a necessity than having bragging rights.

God knows we could eat.

One year, guess I was about 10 years old, Mom took this 24 pound bird and put it on the washing machine to thaw out. Linus was a known "frozen food" thief, having broken into more than one package of thawing raw meat over the years.

This time he damned near cashed in all nine lives at once.

Somehow, he'd managed to gain access to the laundry room just off our "Recreation Room".

Any other house, other than a split level, and we're talking about the basement.

Anyway, Linus found himself in the laundry room alone with 24 pounds of raw turkey.

What's a raw meat eating kitty to do?

He tore through the plastic and got him some.

It wouldn't have mattered if he'd just licked it. Dad would have NO part of any food that the cat touched.

Good thing for Linus he was fast and Dad was 50 years old.

It was a REALLY good thing for Linus. Dad was a World War Two paratrooper trained in hand to hand (in this case, hand to cat) combat. Linus escaped with his hide that day.

However, this still left us without a turkey the day before Thanksgiving.

This forced Dad into a command decision.

He called a butcher shop, Goldstein Brothers, out in the county. I sat quietly at our kitchen table as he inquired as to whether they had any fresh birds left. It had to be a big one, because in addition to the seven of us, my Mom's parents were coming down for dinner as well.

The butcher said something to which Dad chuckled at. "We'll be out there in about half an hour.", he told the man.

Dad looked at me and asked, "Wanna take a ride?".

I was always happy to go with Dad.

Half an hour later we were at the butcher's shop.

The butcher picked up what had to be the largest turkey I'd ever seen.

"Thirty pounds gonna be enough, Dick?", the butcher said with a deadpan face.

Dad just grinned and gave the guy a twenty.

The butcher wrapped it up.

I carried it out.

I thought it was the heaviest thing in the world.

Fortunately, it made it to the car, to home, and through the night safely.

Dad woke up at 4:00 am to stuff it and put it in the oven.

I got up with him.

After all, I now had a vested interest in this bird.

Bird in the oven, Dad made us some Cream of Wheat for breakfast.

Eight years and two months later, that would be our last meal together.

But on Thanksgiving Day, 1971 we sat there over breakfast and laughed.

Dad said, "I was ready to kill that cat.".

I replied, "Well, at least there wouldn't be a fight over the drumsticks.".

Dad roared.

Forty years later, here I am.

Back in the old hometown.

Roasting a bird at a God awful hour.

Smiling all the way.

Happy Thanksgiving, folks.

Until the next time, all y'all take care of yourselves.

Air Traffic Mike, ret.