Trauma to Tradition.

"Is this sleet turning into snow?" Summer asked herself, peering through her struggling windscreen wipers. Then, realising she was talking to herself, she sighed, "At last!". She heaved some relief, as she finally turned onto the freeway exit to head to her grandma's house. Thanksgiving in her family ritually meant a gathering of the clan, despite the hazards of driving and catching flights in all the seasonal, almost winter, torrential rain or dumps of snow.

Summer's olden jalopy had been making some strange and eerie noises under the hood, but it was just too damn rainy or sleeting to stop on the freeway and lift the bonnet. She was hoping she could also drive home in one piece, too much of her slightly kooky family did not annually make her feel very grateful. At least grandma had long ago mastered the feast, even if it meant saying grace and telling each other why they were all thankful. The comments were normally worse than Christmas.

The next road back home was awash with water, the tyres on Summer's car were not exactly the best. Unknowinglyh, she was speeding up, eager to stop driving, so she could be indoors and be coddled by grandma once more. There was grandma's house, Summer tried to turn into the entrance. Her wheels lost traction, and she slammed into another car. Lucky she had her seatbelt on, the crash was loud, her neck was already sore. She just knew she had damaged her car and one of her relative's.

Sure enough, grandma's front door opened, and an irate face appeared, waving his fist at her. Summer was shocked, was this her once crush, Simon? He was not really even related, he was the stepson of her aunty, but he sometimes joined his folks at Thanksgiving. The rain was coming down in sheets, by now, with occasional snow flurries, as Simon, all handsome and behaving crossly yelled, "Look what you've done to my new car! Lord spare me from women drivers. You all drive like crazy ladies!"

Summer felt weak, all she could do was wave weakly, and hope Simon would not throw another wobbly. Her car was not even insured. Gingerly, she picked up her platters of side dishes and her shoulder bag, and tried not to look Simon in the eye. She realised another, more feisty woman, would have taken this angry male to task for his sexist, piggy comments. But she hoped grandma would soothe her soul, if not Simon's. Splashing through the puddles, looking like a drowning victim, she made it indoors. She had left her keys in the car, she could hear Simon backing her car away from his designer vehicle. This was not exactly anything but a trauma, instead of feeling like she should express gratitude.

There at the front door stood grandma and Summer's father, who said, "It's only a bingle, Simon. Don't carry on. People are far more important than cars. They are only stuff." Grandma enfolded Summer in a comfortable hug, an embrace that spoke of welcome to the generations. Summer took her platters to the kitchen, adding them to the appetizing traditional feast. She had made it, anyway.

She supposed she better let Simon know that she was not insured, that bill had been way too expensive for her meagre salary as a a vet nurse. It was a career that she thoroughly enjoyed, she was a fur magnet. It was at that exact moment when she entered the dining room, that she was practically flattened by a giant hound dog. He was a big unit, bounding up to her, and wagging his tail.

Simon was soon sharing a beer with all the males there. He commented, "What's your magic? Raz doesn't even do that to me. I'm his owner."

Summer tried not to roll her eyes, wondering if Simon spent his days dumping on women and being possessive. Raz rolled over and presented a well-fed belly for rubs and pats. As she petted him, Raz was bonding, lovelight dancing in his liquid eyes, slurping her with his massive pink tongue. Simon could only look on, slightly amazed at his fickle hound dog.

The Thanksgiving meal began on schedule. Summer's two sisters started on their annual witch fest, sniping and insulting each other, with some catty comments. They had always been the same, even when saying thanks that they could all gather and eat turkey shanks. Summer tried not to think about the mass slaughter of her feathered friends, sort of genocide for unlucky turkeys. She had a really sore neck, her family were their own problem. "Could it be whiplash?" she mused , but not game to interrupt the routines of tradition. The males were all jolly now, enjoying sharing beers and good food, because they were men.

Raz had been sneaking round the dinner table, cadging treats from all the children as they munched their traditions. Unfortunately, one of the young ones slid Raz a wing under the tablecloth. The Thanksgiving custom of telling each other what they were grateful for was interrupted by Raz suddenly coughing loudly, and then collapsing next to the door. "Raz is dead!' the kids all shrieked, some bursting into tears.

Summer could not help her training. She instantly stood up, and was first at Raz's side. Braving the hound's enormous fangs, she gently removed a bone from his throat. Raz groaned, and Summer smiled, telling her nieces and nephews sternly, "Never give dogs cooked bones. Simon, you were lucky. Emergency vets cost a fortune."

Simon grinned, and said, "I can't thank you enough. Don't worry about your car. Raz and I will drive you home. What's wrong with your neck? Do you need emergency medicos from your car prang?"

Summer said no, but let him lead her to the chair. There he stood behind her and massaged her neck. Her grandma brought her a hot wheat bag, as Simon's large, warm, sensitive digits gently kneaded Summer's neck and shoulders. Raz looked on, all concerned. He was forever her fan club leader. Grandma told Simon, "Summer has her own way with fur friends. Secret is, dogs can always tell."

Even Summer's sisters stopped sniping, and cast some looks of enquiry at their mother and aunty. Could Summer finally have more than a fur pal as a secret admirer? Summer herself was almost purring, as Simon brought her a lovely cup of coffee, and sat next to her. Raz was leaning against her.

Grandma's wise old eyes twinkled, she could detect a love story for her favourites in her whole family. Winter snows were soon upon them, but Raz shortly had a new devoted mother, slightly furless. Summer had avoided further trauma. The snow and rain had long since cleared away by Spring, as Summer and Simon celebrated their new tradition.