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A Dog King Thanksgiving.
His bite is worse than his bark.
Dog king.
Because he bites like a shark.
Dog king.
You know he's ruling the streets.
Dog king.
He won't roll over for treats.
His mother was a dog.
His father was a king.
So now he's dog king.
And he's king of the dogs.
Dog king.
Today we find Dog King, King of the Dogs, sitting on his throne, gazing out at his kingdom.
And what a busy kingdom it was.
Dogs of every shape and size were running waddling rolling, wiggling and scooting their butts all over the alley.
The air was full of barks and pants and howls and yips.
They weren't playing, though.
Not today.
No.
They were, for this one very, very rare occasion, hard at work.
And for all their waddling and wiggling and itchy butt-scooting, they were doing a good tail-wagging job of it.
There were a dozen dogs, a wild fuzzy mixture of breeds, working together to make a low table out of discarded pallets and cinder blocks.
There were labs of all colors, passing dented canned goods from mouth to mouth in a slobbery line.
Muttly puppies wrestled under the patient legs of towering Great Danes working together to drape crinkly orange paper above the alley.
The royal guards.
A pair of shaggy German shepherds kept watch, making sure nobody stole more than a nibble before it was time to eat.
Everyone else?
Well, everyone else... was bringing food.
It was a feast dreamed up by Dog King himself, and there was no shortage of, well, anything, really.
Some daring dogs had stolen all manner of table scraps, everything from tins of pie to mashed potatoes dripping with brown gravy.
And as good as that was, they'd done even better with the dumpsters.
They'd found soggy cranberry rolls and brittle latkes, fuzzy spaghetti and melting meatballs.
There was a rainbow curry, a hairy pizza, an Italian sub full of ants, and the list went on and on.
They were even bringing some things that weren't food, exactly like an old shoe that stank, with just the perfect amount of funk.
They spent all morning collecting food.
And by the end, the plywood table they set up was groaning under the weight of it all, and the dogs were groaning along with it, drooling at the sight.
Eventually, the commotion woke Pickles, who had been napping in an old dollhouse he'd found.
The shaky chihuahua stepped out into the alley, watery eyes blinking against the cool November sun.
"'Good morning, Pickles,' said Dog King." a small smile on his shaggy lips.
Tell me, what's on the royal schedule today?
Good morning, good morning, Pickles muttered, still half asleep.
Today, let's see, where is that schedule?
Today we have, is it a peator?
Oh, sweet Georgia Brown!
Everyone stopped and turned to look. he cried, and all the dogs began to cheer and bark.
That's right, that's right, our annual Thanksgiving feast, said Dog King.
And this year, I have a special surprise for all of you, if you'd please gather round.
The dogs stopped working and crowded in.
The smaller dogs climbed the bigger ones to see.
The great St.
Bernard Broadwin had no less than three Boston Terriers riding on her shoulders.
What's the surprise, sugar? asked Broadwin.
Yeah, tell us.
I can't take it, said Rambo.
All right, I won't keep you waiting.
Dog King replied and, using his shaggy snout, he tipped over a cardboard box.
Sitting next to the throne.
Underneath, was a whole turkey, cooked and steaming and heavy with meaty stuffing.
It had taken Dog King a week of careful searching, but he'd finally found it in an unattended slow smoker on someone's back porch.
It had been tricky to get away with it, but he wasn't the king for nothing.
At the sight of the turkey, the dogs all cheered wildly.
Jumps of celebration, quickly devolving into wrestling matches and trains of butt-sniffing and general happy howling.
They had their Thanksgiving feast every year, and they'd never manage to find a whole turkey.
They usually had to settle for pulling carcasses out of the dumpster the next day.
Not that they didn't love those, too.
But for the dogs, a whole turkey was basically a Thanksgiving miracle.
Dog King, Cardboard Crown perched precariously on his shaggy head, carefully slid the turkey onto the table and just like that, it was nearly time to eat.
The dogs all gathered close, pressed in around the table, cheek to fuzzy cheek.
They looked to Dog King, waiting for him to give the traditional toast to start the meal.
This is a special day, Dog King began, and then...
From above, a cat dropped onto their Thanksgiving table.
Everyone went nuts.
Barks and yips and hisses and yelps filled the alley.
Food flew into the air.
Dogs flew into the air.
The cat, a wiry little calico with half an ear chewed off, snatched an old cranberry roll and then leapt from the table.
Ah, it's a kitty cat, yelled Pickles. throwing himself under nearby Annie for safety.
Everybody, watch out!
The dogs tried to get the cat, but she was too small, too fast.
She wound beneath their feet and then leapt up a fire escape.
The dogs howled after her, but were unable to follow and had to settle for jumping and barking wildly.
It didn't do much good, but they seemed to enjoy it.
Finally...
After the cat disappeared over a nearby roof, the dogs came back to the table to try and start their meal again.
There was still plenty of grumbling about the cat, though, most of it from Pickles.
Oh, a cat!
A kitty cat in our kingdom!
We don't need these tiny fluffballs stealing our food and meowing in our alley, putting their backs up and strutting around in their teeny-tiny Oh Pickles.
Annie said that cat was bigger than you.
She must be stopped.
Relax, Pickles, said Dog King.
Now, as I was saying, this is a special day.
That bandit, that scoundrel, that, ah, that, ah.
The cat dropped down again. this time landing softly just in front of the excited chihuahua.
Thief!
Ah!
Thief! cried Pickles, leaping forward in a sudden and quite unexpected fit of bravery.
The cat and small dog rolled across the table in a yelping, yowling blur.
Other other wrecks pulled the turkey out of the way and Dog King managed to lift Pickles out of the fray by the scruff of his neck.
The cat snatched an old cranberry cookie in her whiskered mouth and leapt straight up snagging the fire escape.
Rambo leapt after her, his strong jaws snapping shut just inches beneath her curling tail.
He fell back to the ground amid a pile of pups and tangled tails, and they all bounded, barking to their feet.
On the table, it was a different story.
Pickles lay on his back in a puddle of gravy, paws flopped over dramatically.
Now for a quick ad break.
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Experience the beloved Harry Potter series like you've never heard them before on Audible.
Harry Potter.
The Full Cast Audio Editions present the iconic series as a truly spellbinding listening event for the whole family.
The adventure will surround you.
You'll hear footsteps echoing off the walls of Hogwarts and the whoosh of a golden snitch as it darts past your ear.
And the production also features a rousing new musical score that heightens every magical moment.
Listen, as A-list stars like Hugh Laurie as Albus Dumbledore and Keira Knightley as Professor Umbridge create a spellbinding experience for not only longtime Harry Potter fans, but also those brand new to the magical world of witchcraft and wizardry.
The first story, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, is available now, with new audiobooks releasing every month, moving forward.
It's Harry Potter like you've never heard it before.
Listen on Audible.
Go to audible.com slash hp1 and start listening today.
Oh, sugar pie, said Brodwin.
I think you're okay.
"'Broadwin, is that you?
So dark, so weak.
Oh, Ducky, I'm coming home!'
"'Pickles?' said Dog King.
"'Dog King, it was terrible!
Claws like knives, big, sharp, shiny ones, and eyes like a demon!'
You don't even have a scratch on you, said Rambo, who was looking a bit rough himself after his fall.
That's not the point, said Pickles, rolling to his feet and shaking the gravy from his fur.
All right now, Dog King said.
He fixed his crown and took his spot at the table.
The other dogs gathered around, again tails, wagging thick ropes of rumbly stomach drool hanging from their mouths.
Once again, said Dog King.
This is a special day.
And then the cat dropped down again.
This time it landed right on top of the Thanksgiving turkey.
The dogs had seemed wild before, but that was nothing.
Now they were wild and hungry.
Their Thanksgiving dinner being interrupted a third time was more than they could bear.
This time, they all jumped so fast the cat had to run away empty-handed, or empty pod in her case.
She escaped up and over the roof, but the dogs didn't give up this time.
They flowed around the building and watched as she jumped from roof to roof.
It was a tricky chase.
The cat could leap easily across the narrow alleys, but the dogs had to watch her above and still keep their eyes on their paws.
More than a few tripped over old recycling or took wrong turns or ran headlong into trash bins and sent them clanging.
Before long, it was just a small group of dogs still in the chase, Dog King out in front.
The cat finally ran out of luck and ran out of roofs and dropped into the alley.
She took a quick turn and then another, and then the alley began to grow narrower and narrower.
At the end, in a corner where three buildings came together, there was a metal barrel and an old, abandoned grill.
The dog skidded to a halt as the cat leapt up through the grill's bottom and disappeared inside.
Pickles caught up a moment later, his little leg shaky, tongue poking out of his mouth.
Stop!
Miscreant!
Stop!
He puffed and then tumbled onto his side, catching his breath.
Dog King stepped ahead of the others, patting slowly up to the grill.
Nowhere left to go, food thief, he said.
I'm not a thief, called back the cat from the inside.
Really, said Dog King.
If you knew me, you'd know I'm always fair.
I wouldn't call you a thief if I didn't know for sure, but we all saw you stealing our food.
I... I'm sorry.
Please, don't eat me.
Dog King laughed.
We chase cats, sure.
You scratch a butt, we nip a tail.
But we'd never eat you.
Ah! said Pickles weakly.
As if I'd be caught dead eating a cat!
Then... then why'd you chase me?
You stole from my friends.
My family.
And on Thanksgiving.
I'm... I'm sorry, said the cat.
And from inside the grill, they heard the beginnings of a sniffly cry.
Gently now, Dog King used his snout and flipped open the top of the grill.
Inside was a cranberry roll and cookie, a thin, ragged blanket and an even thinner, more ragged calico cat.
She squeaked as Dog King leaned over the open grill.
Don't eat me!
Dog King ignored that and peered around the grill instead.
He noticed the blanket was scratched into a nest and showed signs of a long-term stay.
Is this where you live? asked Dog King.
It is, said the cat.
Dog King looked around, confused.
What about your friends?
Your family?
I, um, I don't have any.
I grew up alone in an old house.
There were always plenty of mice, so it wasn't so bad, but a few weeks ago some humans moved in and I had to leave.
There's not so many mice out here in the alley, or at least not so many slow ones.
So what have you been eating?
Well, um, nothing really.
That's why I stole your food.
I could smell it from here.
It smelled so good and you had so much.
I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to ruin your Thanksgiving.
With that, the skinny little cat began to cry.
Dog King looked at the poor little cat and felt a tear well up in his own shaggy eye.
He turned towards the dogs behind him.
The rest had caught up now. and the cat's little alley was packed with curious pups.
Dog King looked at Rambo, who nodded.
Likewise for Annie and Broadwin and the rest.
Pickles was crying openly, fat tears streaming from his big, watery eyes.
You know, said Dog King, most of us didn't have a family either.
The cat looked up, sniffling.
What?
Really?
Really?
How did you get one?
Dog King looked out at the alley full of dogs, all different, but all together.
Well, we all learned that you really get two families.
The one you're born with, sure, but also the one you choose.
Or in this case, the one that chooses you.
The cat looked up, blinking.
What do you mean?
Oh, Dog King, have a heart, sobbed Pickles.
The poor sweet cat.
I told you all along she needed help.
The poor, poor, poor skinny thing.
Invite her to dinner.
Dog King wagged his tail.
How about it?
Do you want to come eat with us?
Uh, what's your name anyway?
I, um, I never had one.
That won't do.
Can't have friends and family without a name.
Sorry, but that's a dog law.
He looked around at the stolen food in the grill.
Hmm.
How about cranberry?
I love it, the cat said.
Cranberry.
It feels, it feels good. said Pickles.
It fits you like fleas.
Cranberry, walk with me.
I need to apologize for beating you up earlier in that fight.
I don't know my own strength sometimes.
I come from a long line of fighters.
My great-aunt Norman was so strong.
Cranberry hopped down next to Pickles and the dogs all cheered.
Sure, she was a cat, but in Dog King's alley you took care of each other, especially when someone was hungry and especially when there was so much Thanksgiving food to share.
All right, everyone, Dog King said.
Let's go eat.
The cheer was even louder this time, and Cranberry joined in with the rest.
And so, with one cat, one friend extra, barking and howling and rolling and wiggling, the dogs headed back home, towards their feast.
Dog King, as always, leading the way.
Dog King, he's the king of the dogs.
Dog King, he's the king of the dogs.
Dog King, he's the king of the dogs.
Dog King, he's the king of the dogs.
His mother was a dog, his father was a king.
So now he's Dog King, and he's king of the dogs.
Dog King.
His bite is worse than his bark.
Dog King.
Because he bites like a shark.
Dog King.
You know he's ruling the streets.
Dog King.
He won't roll over for treats.
His mother was a dog, his father was a king, so now he's Dog King.
And he's king of the dogs.
Dog King.
Today's story, A Dog King Thanksgiving, was an original story written for you by Daniel Hines and performed for you by me, Amanda Weldon, with a theme song by us both.
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