America | Culture | Lifestyle

What a Turkey

I watched a pair of turkeys walk through the woods, hop the fence and beeline right for the bird feeders, where the buffet of dropped seed from smaller birds is readily available. As they walked across the frozen backyard one of the turkeys slipped on the icy ground, jerked awkwardly and recovered. “Nothing to see here”, it seemed to say. I did a similar move yesterday in dress shoes on a patch of ice. It seems I’m not the only turkey trying to walk on ice.

Once, wild turkey were a novelty here, perhaps
twenty years ago, or so. You’d see them now and then, but now…. To see thirty turkey dominate the front yard? Gobbling and bickering, like they own the place? Commonplace. And so is the evidence of their visit, in tracks all over the yard and turkey turds everywhere. No, this won’t do. When Bodhi was alive he’d keep these turkey at bay, but nowadays there’s no deterrent for them. My yard has become free range for poultry.

I suppose others thought the same thing when we moved in, acting like we owned the place. Cutting down trees, putting up sheds and fences and dropping swimming pools into the ground. Our tracks are more permanent than these other turkeys. So who am I to complain about these characters coming into my yard? It’s only mine because a bank and lawyers say it’s mine. I’m just a turkey with a mortgage. These other turkeys? They might just be smarter than me.

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