The Damn Ham

While waxing nostalgic about Thanksgiving's past, I remembered something. Amazing that I can remember anything, really, what with the copious amounts of jug wine and all. But I've got some misty, water-colored memories.  There may be a pink elephant or two stumbling through the scene but they're in there.  The Thanksgiving in question involved not just a turkey but a ham.  Not just any  ham.  My mom could out-Martha Martha in a Martha-off.  This ham had little slits cut into it with surgical precision which were then stuffed with spinach.  I'm sure there was some kind of lovely bourbon glaze involved as well. And a little for the chef!!!!  I will say that my mom was, and is the mother scratching bomb when it comes to that kinda stuff.  So anyway, the ham, having been sufficiently dressed and seasoned, is sitting on the counter, waiting to go in the oven.  At some point, a keen observer notices that the ham has gone missin'.  This was followed by screaming and shreaking and I believe, "Jesus Christ!  The dog has the ham!!!!!".  So a chase ensues. The dog is finally wrestled to the ground and the ham is retrieved.  It's been gnawed and licked and is frankly slobbery and covered with dog hair and other shit that was on the ground wherever he dragged it off to.  Mom, having a houseful arriving imminently, simply rinses it off, stuffs the teeth marks with more spinach and slaps that baby in the oven.  The best part was that somehow the information spread like wildfire and so those in the know avoided the ham like the plague.  The information was not imparted upon a certain blowhard relative however, who declared the ham to be simply delicious.  This declaration immediately set off a round of near deaths by choking.  Heimlich!  Can't breathe!  Ahhhhhh.......some memories are better than others.