the smoke-my little dog

I was thinking back to a childhood memory, of a Thanksgiving, when my little dog Smokey was around. He was a mix of Dachshund and Terrier, a little black cutie and he lived to be 16 years old. I really loved him. What a sweet little dog, of course he was sweet to me, he was my dog. To other people, he was a terror. My Uncle Leo called him Skupper, and would remark, "You're still here, huh?"  I guess his pets didn't make it for the long haul. Ours do. Till death do us part. Anyway, back to the Thanksgiving, he was barking and running from one door to another in a circle, I had this figured out, so I just let him be outside, let him be outside and bark himself silly. Well my Nana couldn't take it anymore and let him in, and he ran right to the back door, and she got up and went to the back door to let him out, and he ran to the side door to get let in, she let's him in, he ran to the back door, she let him out, he ran to be let out, this continued for about 15 minutes, watch that for about 5 or 6 minutes and a cranky senior citizen finally had enough and said " to hell with you" and she sat down. Hilarious. That may have also been the Thanksgiving that he busted open the trash bag and ate the whole Turkey carcass. Then preceded to be in a Turkey coma in the backyard for several hours, So funny!!! Mind you, he was about a foot tall, little Electrolux vacuum body. Get the picture?