One year was memorable. Mom had put the turkey in the kitchen sink to defrost overnight. The first clue that something was amiss was waking to one of the cats standing on her chest and yarking copiously on the bedspread. She headed downstairs to find out that one of the dogs had been sick at the bottom of the stairs. How did she find this out? I think you know the answer to that.... In the kitchen, she found that the dog and/or cats had somehow gotten the turkey out of the sink and had wrestled it to the floor, where they proceeded to gnaw on the beast all night. Turkey parts strewn around, sick animals, no turkey for Thanksgiving. Really pissed-off mom.
When I was in high school, myself and my step-parents would go over to my Aunt/Uncle/cousins for Thanksgiving. But, before we went, all farm chores had to be done. It was a great day for me, because I could eat a whole lot more than I would at home.
My mom came from Germany and never really learned the art of cooking a turkey. She made cornish hens instead and told us they were baby turkeys. Once I was old enough to announce this at school......this is when the other kid's laughter taught me the truth. (She STILL makes these and we lovingly refer to them as her baby turkey meal. )