Sometimes it’s wise to keep your mistakes to yourself.
One June, the daughter of one of our close friends was getting married. When there’s an occasion like that in a farming community, everybody naturally pitches in. Her family was planning to hold the gift opening on the day after the wedding, and I offered to roast the turkey.
I must say I was pleased with myself when I took it out of the oven. I’d never seen such a glorious-looking bird: it had to be 35 pounds if it was an ounce.
I transported my creation out to the Laurentian, opened the passenger door, and set it onto the floor. As I ran back to the house to grab my purse, the heavenly aroma of the roast turkey wafted through the air.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought it smelled good. As I came back out, I saw our dog’s backside sticking out the door of the car. And boy, was her tail wagging! When I screamed blue murder, she took off, a drumstick clamped defiantly in her mouth.
I was filled with dread as I ran to the car to assess the damage. My heart sank at the thought of all those guests trying to make due with nothing more than rolls and potato salad. But thankfully, the rest of the bird was untouched.
What else could I do? I carefully sliced away the damaged part, climbed into the car, and drove to the reception. By the time I arrived, I had my story straight. “Ted just loves a leg of turkey,” I explained, “and I thought you wouldn’t miss it.”
Ted has laughed about the story ever since. But do me a favour: if you happen to bump into my neighbours, don’t tell on me!
-Lois Hole I'll Never Marry A Farmer