With me will be my dog, who happens to be in my office sitting next to me right now. She’s a great girl, and bright, too, always keeping up on the news. She just gave me a look as if to say, "Nightline just won’t be the same without Ted Koppel."

"Yes, girl," I tell her as I scratch her head. "Ted Koppel will be missed. Won’t he girl! Won’t he! Yeah, thatta girl." She then gives me a look that says, "Don’t patronize me."

Thanksgiving is supposed to be a time to give thanks, and right now I’m thankful that my dog and I get to head home for a few days. For nearly seven hours, she’ll sit in the front of my truck with me. For seven hours, she’ll drool on my dash, leave nose prints on the window, and every now and then shake-shake-shake and send a blizzard of hair floating around my cab. On more than one trip, I’ve gotten out to get gas covered with hair. I once saw myself on one of those "world’s greatest mysteries" shows. ("I couldn’t believe it," the guy said. "Me and the wife are getting a corn dog and there he is getting gas: Bigfoot.")

But I’m thankful for that too; it reminds me just how lucky I am to have never been attacked by a Bigfoot, verbally or otherwise.

Thirty minutes to go. I look forward to the drive home. It’s a time when I can get lost in thought and not have to worry about a coworker saying, "Are you listening to me?" Have you ever been at a meeting when you hear your name being called, and you have no idea why because you’ve spent the last 10 minutes thinking about rescuing Mary Ann – and only Mary Ann — from Gilligan’s Island? My dog hardly ever asks if I’m paying attention.

I like the drive, at least until I get to Denver. If there was no traffic, once I hit Denver I’d be 20 minutes from home. With rush hour traffic, it takes over an hour, sometimes much longer, depending on the weather. I’m tired, bored (having run out of interesting thoughts somewhere around Lamar), eager to lie down in my old bed, drink a little egg nog, and forget about the real world for a while.

Thanksgiving is over, and it’s moments like these that make me realize how selfish I am. Yesterday, hundreds of travelers were stuck on I-70 after high winds and snow created blizzard conditions. Highways and schools were closed. Hotels and churches filled up and people were forced to sleep in their cars.

And me? I’m sitting here thankful for an extra day in Colorado. Oh, the shame of it all (I say as I sit in my robe, sipping hot chocolate). Although I’ll be working on the computer — conducting telephone interviews, writing — I’m at home. At home, even work doesn’t seem like work. The sky’s blue and the highways are closed. Ahhhhhh.

I’m sorry for all those people who are stuck, but when we’re talking about being thankful, I just can’t help but appreciate having an extra day. Even my dog’s thankful. She’s taken to playing with my folks’ dog, a poodle about one-tenth her size. To envision what they look like, just imagine if David and Goliath had been childhood buddies. And, well, dogs. Of course, if that had been the case, their story probably wouldn’t have been picked up by the Bible. A pet magazine, perhaps.

What are you most thankful for this holiday season -- or any season for that matter? You can be thankful during deer season, flu season, or baseball season. It’s not like there’s a rule about it. In fact, I’d venture to say that the attitude of Thanksgiving should be celebrated year-round. But I guess that goes without saying. It just sounded so pleasant. You try writing a column without a cliché now and then.

I’m thankful for my loved ones and friends, for my home, my job, the food I eat, and for never having been attacked by Bigfoot. But I’m also thankful for the little things. I’m thankful for the rug in the bathroom on cold winter mornings. I’m thankful for the camping section at the department store; it always takes me back to childhood trips. I’m thankful for chocolate syrup, flannel shirts, the mute button, and Baggies.