On Thursday Chris and I packed up (our entire existence, which mostly revolves around) Iggy, and a change of clothes, and headed an hour and a forty-five minutes in the sunlit direction of The Oregon Coast, to spend Thanksgiving with babycarrot sister and brother Will. It was an amazing trip, for so many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that the combination of surf, sand, and siblings seemed to ignite Iggy’s inner dog, and he transformed before our very eyes into a lean mean walking machine. He even peed outside, which was a revelation! indeed.

He only required a drag a few times, and when he did lay down it was more of a “Hey, I’m resting. Give me a second. OK, resting, resting, ready, GO!” rather than the previous times when he would forgo movement, acting like a fourteen-year-old-angst-laden pug whose eyes and locked limbs shouted obscenities and walk refusals every time we attempted to leash him. If he (wasn’t a dog, and thus) could speak, those exchanges of yore probably would have gone a little something like this:

“Iggy Francis Pop, COME ON.”

“But Mom! I’m not finished with my make-up yet. Give me a minute, eh?”

“Iggy, you’ve been in the bathroom for forty-five minutes. I think you’re ready. And anyway, haven’t I told you a hundred times that eyeliner makes you look like a drug addict.”

“If you’re so embarrassed to be around me than fine: I’m not walking anywhere; you’ll have to DRAG me if you want me to move from this vanity mirror.”

“Iggy, you are so dramatic. Here, do you want a treat?”

“Why are you hell-bent on ruining my life? I hate! you.”

And on and on and on like that until I eventually gave up and just carried him the three city blocks that he looked at as if they were The Sahara and we were talking camels. Crazy, treat-laden talking camels.

I have no proof of Thursday’s walking, but Chris does; what I do have is proof that he was so tired after the three-mile trek that he cuddled with Theresa most of the night and slept the rest of it, while we decorated their Nordman with homemade ornaments, some of which were made by babycarrot sister herself:

Today Theresa had to work, but while we were at breakfast with brother Will, she took him out for a walk on her morning break, and then again at lunch the three of us trekked once more beach-ward, and behold! The Walking continued, and we would have stood amazed but we had to keep up. I know in this first picture The Walking looks more like Loitering, but I promise you that this weekend his little legs carried him further than he had ever imagined about being carried, and he only stopped to eat the sand about ten times, which was a victory in and of itself:

He was by far the smallest dog on the beach, save one little fella who matched him in size and tripled him in hair which made him, we decided, look like a charming mobile footrest with eyes:

Both days we took him beach roaming the attention was sweet and unending:

One little girl even attempted to pick him up and carry him home. We would have let him, so cute was the overall interaction, but we happen to love him, and I’m not quite sure, but I think Theresa has grown bit attached herself:

Thus concludes how I spent my Turkey Thursday and my Black Friday, which was, rather amazingly, more of a Bright (Light) Friday:

Overall, it was one of my favorite Thanksgivings to date.

I hope yours was equally bountiful.