"IT'S THANKSGIVING: A TALE OF ONE TOM"

At this time every year, millions of turkeys make the trek from the farm to our tables and this year's no exception. But really what do we know about Tom's journey? Other than a few gobbles, it's lights out and the next thing he knows he's stuffed to the hills, sharing a roasting pan with his good friends yams, Yukon golds and carrots in a sauna of 350F for 4 hours. Yup, stick a thermometer in me I'm done!

So my question is, what do they think about this yearly tradition? I'm sure they'd avoid (if not ban all together) this holiday (or any other requiring the mass homicide of their ancestors and fellow siblings). You wave to your good buddies as they go off into the barn only never to be seen or heard from again. Can you imagine being reunited with your childhood BF in the local Loblaws freezer? I can just hear it now. A muffled voice coming from within the plastic packaging. "Howard is that you? I almost didn't recognize you." And then a faint reply, "Yeah, it's me and what a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into Gordi!"

Sadly, I partake in the demise of these innocent gobblers myself. And being a fellow carnivore like many of us are (sorry couldn't quite get into the vegan thing) I'm all for a couple of slices of white meat smothered in homemade gravy, with stuffing and potatoes on the side. Yes, there's nothing like it. All at the expense of those poor plump birds specifically designed for stuffing and bringing joy to all those hungry souls gathered around the dining room table for a little succulent somethin'-somethin' to satisfy their Thanksgiving palettes. Once the aroma begins to consume the air in my kitchen then trickling its way into the rest of the house no one can resist. No one. It's so darn tootin' heavenly!

While I'm in the kitchen, I know he's watching my every move. As I carefully chop the carrots and potatoes I can see him giving me the evil eye from way across the counter. I do my best to ignore him but I'm sure he's been secretly flipping the bird (with both wings!) at me behind my back too. Hey, the reality is that I'm not the one headed for oven. He is. Zing! That's gotta hurt considering me and my guests will be waiting in baited breath (and plates in hand no doubt) for his grand appearance (and final one). One might even say he's the gift that keeps on giving, that is if you have leftovers for days on end.

Amidst all the negativity surrounding this tradition, deep down I believe he's flattered to some degree. After all the fuss is about HIM. Yup, it's all about HIM. Just think of it as a real send off into those big pearly gates where so many of his friends, family and ancestors before him will be waiting. It'll be a real gobblefest reunion when he gets there. So then why not go out with a real bang? Drumstick anyone?

The time has come...*oven door creeks open*...Your destiny awaits you Tom!

(Where's a wishbone when you need it eh?)

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!