What Happened to the Meat?

It was the Christmas I was 23. 

We had gathered at my parent's place like we usually did every year. 

As a person who is somewhat introverted, I am not particularly fond of gatherings. And as we all might have known by now, family gatherings might not be the most relaxing places to be either. There is also usually a lot of work. 

One of the reasons I liked to go to my parents at this time of the year was to experience rural life and relax away from the hustle and bustle of city life. I also loved to enjoy mango season. You have never truly tasted a mango if you haven't picked a juicy one, ripened by the sun straight from the tree. 

The core reason I didn't like to go was the cooking for many people, especially on Christmas day. It really is a lot of work. And as a person who doesn't go to church, the responsibility was left mostly to me. 

I had woken immediately after everyone had left and begun the duties. At least my sisters had done most of the preparations and some cooking before they left. All I had to do was roast the goat ribs still together as one block. And as the meat roasted, I would also prepare the salad and salsas. 

The charcoal cooker had also been lit outside and was slowly getting hotter.

It wasn't too bad this year. 

I brought out the meat and placed it on the mesh above the coal. I was seated on a chair to reach the meat. Our charcoal burners are usually knee-length. I was turning the meat from side to side. It was coming up well. I was salivating as it changed colour and as the juices oozed from the meat. The aroma was also very inviting. 

I was checking the fire from below making sure I didn't burn the meat. I didn't want to take any complaints from anyone later. The comments can be really brutal. 

Also, my brother had carefully selected the piece at the slaughterhouse he said. And he looked forward to enjoying it. I wanted to do a good job. 

We all like it very well done. And so I was taking my time to ensure the goat meat was browning everywhere. I had cut a piece and tasted it. It was yummy. I had cut an even bigger one. It tasted really good. I stopped myself from making a third cut. At this rate, I would eat even the shares of others. And if you have siblings, you know how that would go.

The yummy juices of the meat made me want to do an even better job with it as it cooked. 

The meat was done at this point but I wanted it to be softer. So I went inside the house to bring out some foil to wrap it as it cooked some more on low heat. I had reduced the charcoal fire. 

Going in had only taken me a second or so. The second I had stepped back out, I saw the neighbour's dog grab the meat by the bone and then quickly it ran away with it. 

My heart almost skipped a beat. 

Where had it come from? It had only been a second. How fast was this dog?

I quickly rushed out shushing the dog. I chased it shouting. 

The dog was holding the huge piece with its teeth from a protruding joint on one side. It dragged the meat through the grass, soil and flowers before dropping it at the boundary. 

I went and picked up the huge piece. I was completely devasted. Its juices had leaked on the ground leaving it covered with grass, soil and pollen. The meat looked muddy. I didn't know what to do. I tried to think hard about how I could quickly salvage the situation. 

I decided to thoroughly wash the meat and then reroast it. As I washed it under the running water, I cursed every micro-second I had gone inside and left the meat unattended. I should have known better!

As you can imagine, with all its natural juices washed away, the final product was tasteless. It didn't look appetising either. 

I tried to wrap it with the foil as I roasted it some more to retain the remaining juices, but nothing! The damage had already been done. 

I was 23. I didn't have the money to buy 6 kilos of meat. And if I did, I didn't know who to send to the butchery. Was it open on Christmas day even? And if it was, did they have nice pieces? Also, time was running. 

I had panicked. 

To cover the tracks, I had tried to quickly wipe the oily juices from the grass and the bush with a towel. I had also swept the soil. I hoped no one would suspect a thing. 

Soon, everyone had come back from church and was serving their food. I tried to maintain my cool. I stood behind the kitchen door as they murmured about the meat situation. 

"Aiiih! She doesn't know how to cook," my elder sister had said quietly looking around to see whether I was around or could hear her. 

They all seemed to agree. I watched them in silence serving themselves with frowns and disappointed faces as they took their bites. The murmurs continued throughout the meal. 

Nobody went for meat seconds. 

The remainder of the meat (which was a lot) was fried with vegetables and spices to give it flavour for the evening meal. 

As you can imagine, they never gave me cooking duty again. It wasn't until two Christmases later that I told them what had happened. 

They have never stopped laughing about the incident. They call it the Christmas of me and the dog meat. They also still can't believe I served them meat that had been dragged by a dog. They say they could have gotten sick. They remind me of it any time I make a mistake. 

I'm usually like "But you didn't!" trying to shrug it off. 

I also ask them what they would have done if it had been them in my situation. They stammer through their explanations. Probably the same thing I did I conclude. 

They still don't give me cooking duty. I think I like it better this way. The pressure not to disappoint again would be too much. 

Also, who knows what could go wrong this time around? 

Was it the right thing to do? I'm not really sure. I just know that my intentions were good right from the start. 

What would you have done if you were me?