Giving Thanks?

As we celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow, I'd like to share a (true) story that will hopefully add to your thankfulness.

The minute Chris got out of his car and started walking toward his dad's house, he knew something was wrong. Flies swarmed nearby and as he got nearer an odor of death hung in the air. Chris warned his family to stay by the car as he stepped closer to the door to investigate.
     I just talked to Dad two hours ago when we left home, Chris thought, remembering his dad's hearty, "Happy Thanksgiving" greeting as he answered the phone. Everything seemed fine and his dad sounded excited over the new turkey recipe he found.
     As Chris approached the sliding glass door off the kitchen, the number of flies escalated and landed on him quicker than he could brush them off. The smell grew worse.
     "Dad," he called as he reached the door. "Dad," he called again as he slid the door open.
     "Close the door," Jim yelled, as he swatted at flies like a crazy autotron.
      The odor made Chris wince. At first he contemplated closing the door and remaining outside, but he stepped over the threshold and slid the door closed behind him. The look of terror and anger on his dad's face startled him.
     "Dad, what's wrong? What's that smell?" Chris asked, trying to cover his nose and wave away flies at the same time. "There must be 100,000 flies around here."
     "I don't know. It's been like this for an hour or more, but it's getting worse. I think something died in the house."
     Together they walked through the rooms, but Chris realized the smell and flies intensified as they got back to the kitchen.
     "Let's check the attic," Chris suggested. "I'll get the ladder from the garage." He walked out to his car and told his family the situation. Chris' wife Tina remained in the car with the windows rolled up, no doubt thinking of the invitation to a catered Thanksgiving dinner at a wealthy relative's house they declined for this. Their three boys, ages 6, 10 and 12 immediately clamored to go in the attic with Chris; only threats kept them from entering the house.
     With the boys hovering at the sliding door, each dancing a fly-swatting jig as they watched, Chris climbed the ladder, pushed the attic cover aside and disappeared. Thumps of footsteps echoed from one end of the house to the other, but when Crhis reappeared, a shake of his head answered everyone's question.
     "Maybe there's something under the house," Chris said, dreading the thought of crawling through dense cobwebs only to stumble on fly-infested remains.
     Jim offered some old work clothes and a belt to hold up the too-large pants, and Chris changed into the "hunting" outfit. As he walked out of the house and around the back to the crawl-space entrance, three eager boys shadowed his every step.
     "Dad, what do you think it is?"
     "Dad, can I go with you?"
     "Eww, dad. What if there are spiders and mice in there?" giggled the oldest boy.
     "Why don't you go instead," Chris frowned at him as he removed the cover.
     "No way!"
     "Not me!"
     "Yuck!"
     Chris put a stocking cap over his hair, donned a mask and work gloves, picked up the flashlight and took one more look at the clear blue sky before entering the dark hole. After wiping away scores of cobwebs, scaring off several mice and making his way through the various twists and turns of the crawl-space, Chris blinked his way into daylight again. "Nothing there."
     The boys made disgusting sounds at the cobwebs adorning Chris' hat, clothes and gloves.
     "I don't know what it could be, Dad," Chris said. "The smell and flies were worse in the kitchen. Let's go back in there."
     The boys followed the two adult men into the kitchen, seeming to hope they wouldn't get sent out.
    "It's strongest here, Dad," Chris said, standing before the oven. "What's in here?"
     "Just the turkey. I haven't put anything else in yet."
     Chris opened the oven door. A swarm of Kamikaze flies circling the kitchen raced to join the crispy-critter bodies of their comrades littering the turkey and the oven floor. The smell gagged everyone, and the boys couldn't make it out the door fast enough.
     "Eww. What did you do to the turkey?" Chris asked, holding his nose.
     "It's that new recipe I told you about, " Jim said, sounding offended. "I brined it in a bucket of salt."
     "Did you refrigerate the bucket, Dad?"
     "No. Was I supposed to?"

This year Jim ordered a complete "heat and eat" Thanksgiving dinner from a local restaurant.
P.S. Names have been changed to protect "Jim" from further embarrassment. :}

Sometimes it is more blessed to let others do the cooking.