Thankful Hearts and Muddy Paws

By Michael James

Thanksgiving is a season of gathering—a time when the chill in the air nudges us closer together, when we pause to count our blessings, and when the scent of roasted turkey drifts through open windows across small towns and backroads. But for those of us who live a life tied to the outdoors, Thanksgiving carries an added weight. It’s more than a meal; it’s a reminder of the life we’ve built around faith, family, and the steady companionship of a good dog.

There’s something about late November that invites reflection. Maybe it’s the bare trees revealing their honest silhouettes against the gray sky, or the way the fields lie quiet after harvest. Maybe it’s that first frosty breath before dawn, when the world feels still and possible all at once. Whatever it is, it reminds us to give thanks—not just for the big things, but for the small, sacred moments that fill the spaces between them.

For many of us, those moments come beside a Labrador with a wagging tail and muddy paws. Dogs have a way of grounding us in gratitude. Whether they’re steady in the duck blind, curled up on the porch as kids toss a football, or lying under the table waiting for a stray piece of turkey, they teach us about loyalty, patience, and joy in the simplest things.

A hunting dog’s Thanksgiving looks different than most. The day might begin in a blind, the dog trembling with anticipation as mallards circle through the mist. There’s no clock, no rush—just the rhythm of nature, the hiss of wind across the water, and the quiet bond between hunter and dog. When the call comes, and the bird drops, the dog’s leap into the cold water is more than instinct—it’s partnership, built on trust and shared purpose.

But not every good dog retrieves birds. Some bring healing instead of feathers. In hospitals and schools, therapy dogs curl up beside those who are hurting, bringing comfort without words. In living rooms across America, family dogs lay their heads in the laps of those who’ve had a hard year, reminding us that love often looks like simple presence. Whether they’re flushing quail, guiding the blind, or chasing children through piles of leaves, they remind us what Thanksgiving is all about: gratitude for connection, devotion, and unconditional love.

Thanksgiving around our house has always been part feast, part reflection, and part laughter. There’s the hunt in the morning, where stories from decades past get retold for the hundredth time. There’s the midafternoon chaos of casseroles and cousins, the sound of football on the TV and the clatter of dishes in the sink. And through it all, there’s the soft thump of a tail against the floor, the knowing eyes of a dog who’s been part of it all, waiting patiently for a little something to drop from the carving board.

As the day winds down and the light fades from the sky, there’s a quiet contentment that settles in. Maybe that’s the true spirit of Thanksgiving—not the abundance on the table, but the fullness in the heart. The gratitude that comes from knowing that the best things in life aren’t things at all—they’re the people and the dogs we share them with.

So here’s to another Thanksgiving—to frosty mornings and faithful friends, to muddy boots and wagging tails, and to every moment that reminds us how rich this life really is.

Happy Thanksgiving, from our family (and our dogs) to yours.