Turkey and Grave…y

“We have a situation.” my mom whispered, 30 minutes after we’d arrived at my grandpa’s house in rural Arkansas for Thanksgiving. “What do you mean, ‘situation’?” I asked. “Sam is dying. And we can’t find him.” she answered. It took me a minute to process what she was saying, partly because it didn’t make sense; mostly because it was late and I was a little preoccupied trying to clean the toddler’s clothes and car seat from where he vomited during the road trip after eating 2 pounds of gas station gummy worms and Taco Bell, in that order. “Sam is dying…and he’s missing.” I repeated. “Correct.” she confirmed. Sam, of course, was my Papa’s ancient hunting…