Thanksgiving, the definitive American holiday, is always a time of celebrating the love and fellowship we hold between friends and family. However, some of those family members are small and furry. They hover around the kitchen floor. They are constantly underfoot. They are waiting for the errant scrap. If they’re lucky—and on this day they often are—that bowl of bland, dry dog food is loaded with turkey juice and fat trimmings and hunks of roasted bird. We like to imagine they see this special occasion and revel in it, ascribing the same significance we do. Or maybe it’s just a damn good meal, for some reason or another. But we love them just the same.