buddy and the christmas chicken

Buddy, our dog, and the special Christmas Chicken

I had a brain wave to roast a big chicken for my mother, Mary, for Christmas day. Designed to impress the female side.  I did not know that my wise sister, Nora, was bringing turkey to Mam and that Nuala, my sister in law, would also give us a load to take home Christmas night after having dinner with her. It was my first time roasting a chicken, a big thrill for me and I even enthusiastically stuffed it with lemons as Maura, my wife advised. 20 minutes a pound then let it stand.

I rushed out to Mam on Christmas eve but left my all-important cooked half chicken behind in a container on the counter. A big mistake.

When I got to Mam in Howth, I realized I must have left my prized chicken behind. I looked in the boot of the car but to no avail.

I got home to Maura about 6pm on Christmas eve. Expecting to find my Christmas chicken where I left it. But Buddy, our opportunist dog, had got it, on the sly.

The whole half a big chicken had totally disappeared. Vanished like a ship in the Bermuda Triangle. Maura had kindly and indulgently halved it for me and for Mam. She had also stripped the other half for sandwiches.

Then, three days after Christmas, there was still some of Nuala’s turkey left over so I decided to use up my special chicken.

Again, I left it momentarily out on the counter. I went out to the shed to put my white nurse’s uniform in the wash. To get ready for work tomorrow.

When I came back into the kitchen, Buddy, quick as a flash, had gobbled the second part of my special festive roast chicken meant by Maura for sandwiches.

It would have been a nice change at lunch from all the turkey. With a bit of salt. And a cool glass of Heineken delicious non alcoholic beer.

“The sound of bitter mourning is heard in Ramah”

Buddy, the chancer, looked very guilty and cowered and I felt like giving him a toe in the behind but then it dawned on me. It’s Christmas for dogs too.