I spoke on Thanksgiving afternoon at the Berkshire Vegetarian Society's "Living Thanksgiving," held at the United Methodist Church in Lenox. Eighty people were there; no turkeys died to feed us. Rather, there was table after table of everything but the turkey: cranberry sauces and pilafs potatoes and yams and entrees like loafs and souffles and tortes and stuffed vegetables. And then, of course, there was stuffing...lots and lots of stuffing. Isn't Thanksgiving really about the stuffing, after all?

My beloved pal Murphy the dog was invited in, and had a grand time in the midst of so many good smells and animal lovers--he begs very politely, and more than one guest succumbed to his patient entreaties.

I read from Where the Blind Horse Sings. I talked about the life-altering lessons learned from broken animals made whole again. Questions from the audience were wonderful and provocative, and in the end I invited the group to visit Catskill Animal Sanctuary the following day. It was a lovely afternoon.

I pulled up to my house at 6:30 under a nearly full moon. I walked up the back steps, stripped off two jackets, and walked immediately to the oven with the pumpkin pie given to me as I left the church. I piled old newspaper, then cedar kindling, then locust and oak logs in the fireplace, and an amber glow lit the living room.

Just outside my front door, I heard the horses (for those who don't know, my house is in the middle of one of our horse pastures). I peered out to see old man Maxx and his friends Callie and Hazelnut. Their heads leaned over the deck railing; their ears pricked forward in eager anticipation of a friendly greeting and a treat. No carrots to be found, however, and my fruit bowl, often piled high, was vacant.

I wonder.....

I pulled the pie out of the oven, shoved one arm then two into my red cordurouy jacket, then my green one, and walked out to the deck.

"Animals," I whispered...."animals....look what I have!!"

Murphy got the first bite, shoving his snout right into the center of the pie. Callie was next. She sniffed tentatively: what kind of treat is THIS?? and then licked the surface, ever the lady. Hazelnut did the same.

And then came Maxx. Maxx, the thirty-something-year-old gelding surrendered to CAS after his owner died of cancer. Maxx, the gelding with his harem of six mares. Maxx, the pumpkin pie lover who took one perfunctory sniff and then smashed his muzzle so forcefully into the pie that I nearly dropped it, and then again, delighting in its texture and sweetness.

"HAPPY THANKSGIVING, MAXX!!" I exclaimed, laughing heartily.

Murphy and I stayed on the deck for another few minutes, surrounded by horses content to remain right there with us, drenched in moonlight, soaking up the love and savoring pumpkin pie.