At Thanksgiving dinner, my son said his steak smelled strange and refused to eat it. My mother scolded him for being picky, but when my nephew reached over to take the steak for himself, my wife suddenly went pale and screamed, "No! Don’t eat that!"

The sudden, dead weight of Buddy’s drop shook the hardwood floors beneath our chairs.

One second, our golden retriever had been blinking up from the warmth of the cedar flooring, waiting for a fallen morsel of turkey skin or a rogue cube of stuffing. The next second, his legs buckled inward with a hollow thud, his heavy body rolling onto its side. A sharp, rhythmic whimper tore through his throat, turning instantly into a choked, breathless gasp as his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed, rimmed in frantic red.

“Buddy!” Ethan shrieked, scrambling back from the table so hard his chair flipped over, crashing into the wainscoting. He dropped to his knees, his small hands hovering inches from the dog’s twitching fur. “Mom! Dad! What’s wrong with Buddy? Why isn't he getting up?”

The dining room erupted into chaos.

My father’s heavy cane slipped against the table leg with a sharp crack as he tried to stand. My mother screamed, clutching her chest, her fingers tangling in the lace of her holiday apron. Chris dropped his beer bottle; it shattered against the baseboard, amber liquid and shards of green glass exploding across the room, but nobody cared about the mess.

Megan was the only one who didn't move.

She stood frozen beside the serving buffet, her face drained of every drop of color, her eyes locked on the floor where Buddy’s tail gave one final, violent twitch before going completely still.

Lauren was already moving. She dropped to the floor beside Ethan, pulling our son back into her chest, shielding his eyes with her palm so he wouldn't have to look at the terrifying stillness overtaking our family dog.

“Daniel,” Lauren whispered, her voice a razor-sharp whisper cut through the screaming and crying around us. “Get the plate. Now.”

Before anyone else could lunge forward, I reached across the table, grabbed the heavy ceramic plate containing Ethan’s untouched steak, and hoisted it high above my head out of reach.

“Chris! Help me get Buddy out to the car!” I roared, adrenaline flooding my veins with a cold, vibrating fury.

Chris stared at me for a paralyzed heartbeat, his face pale, before he finally snapped out of his daze. He rushed around the table, grabbed Buddy’s hind legs while I hoisted his chest, and together we hauled the heavy, limp golden retriever out the back sliding door toward the driveway. The cool Cedar Rapids air hit our faces like a slap, but the chill did nothing to stop the burning panic in my chest.

“Keep the plate sealed!” Lauren yelled from the back doorway, her voice cracking. “Do not let anyone touch it! Call Dr. Henderson or an emergency clinic right now!”

As I heaved Buddy into the back of my SUV, I looked back through the open kitchen window.

Inside the dining room, under the warm, deceptive glow of the Thanksgiving chandelier, Megan was slowly backing toward the front hallway, her designer handbag clutched to her chest like a shield.

Chris slammed the tailgate shut, panting hard, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Dan... what just happened? Did Buddy eat something off the floor? Did he get into garbage?”

“No,” I said, my voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register that made my brother flinch. “Buddy licked the juice off Ethan’s plate. The plate Megan handed him.”