Did you celebrate the Turkey Day of Infamy?
Non-USA readers may know that yesterday was the USA Thanksgiving, also known as Turkey Day of Infamy.
Oh? You’ve never heard of the Turkey Day of Infamy?
It’s widely known around these parts. Turkeys gather, flock, peck, commiserate, consolidate, and those who remain celebrate making it through another season of bloodshed and horror.
I mean, consider Thanksgiving from the turkeys’ point of view.
Oh, the turkanity!
Yesterday, before we took off to feast (to our everlasting shame!), we took a moment to thank the turkeys who remained with us.
We interviewed a few. Can’t share those. Such fowl language, you’ve never heard. (ha)
But quite the flock, folks.
Such is life in The Wild.
Ham with a side of Cranberry? Really?
I haven’t shared notes about our resident turkeys since The Chuckster and then to mention we hadn’t seen them in a bit. Prior to that, I wrote about Two Toms a’ Struttin’ and noted that, with that much testosterone hanging, turklets (we’ve been instructed they’re not “hatchlings” or some such. The proper translation from Toiga, the primary Turkey language, is “turklet”) were sure to be around.
We’d been hearing turkeys calling each other for a while. Hadn’t seen anyone, though. No turkey signs, either. You know, those signs they carry. Ban Thanksgiving!, Humans are Turkeys, Too!, Support the Turkey Lobby!, and Try Ham with a Side of Cranberry! So Good and So Good for You!.
Anyway, one day as I was working on Gable Smiled and had a sense I was being Turkied. Sure enough, lifting my eyes from my monitor, what do I behold?
There were more than seven, of course. I counted fourteen at one point (they came three times. Wanted to be sure I understood this was to be a turkey-less Thanksgiving this season).
And there were turklets. More like turkteens but still turklets.
“I like big breasts.” “Not me, I’m a leg man.”
I mentioned that we hadn’t seen Bill, our resident Tom, for a while in It’s a Good Thing.
We figured something wildlife-ish had happened to Bill. The Girls were around – all 21 of them! – and Bill, alas…no Bill for about a week.
Today, as Boo (our rescue Bassador) and I returned from our walk, I saw a herd (I know, the proper term is flock and these were moving like a herd. I’m an author. Live with it) of Turkeys heading into our backyard.
This didn’t surprise me. Our Turkeys have become the guardians of my writing. For reasons beyond my comprehension (but I’m sure I’ll discover because I’m starting a new story, A Raccoon’s Tale, that involves Three Turkeys playing Macbeth’s witches. Again, I’m an author. I’ve learned to live with it), they show up when I’m writing and leave when I’m finished. As I write off and on all day, it gets quite busy.
Continue reading “Two Toms a’ Struttin’”
Bill’s got quite the Flock! (Wha-ha wha-ha wha-ha)
Happy Holidays once more, friends.
I’m continuing the thread started with the Eve of Christmas Eve visitation of Ophelia the Opossum and the Christmas Eve visitation of Euste the Fox. This time I’m writing a follow-up to Agnes, Francesca and Bill.
Susan and I woke up Christmas morning with a wonderful, deep, sheltering snowfall causing the trees to bow in honor of WinterMan‘s passing. We don’t celebrate Christmas so much as recognize its cultural meaning, its significance in the collective consciousness. We also recognize the meaning of turkeys in many traditional and aboriginal ways of thinking.
Continue reading “Bill, Putting It On for The Ladies”
Somebody’s following those fine looking ladies
I wrote about Agnes, our resident wild turkey, a few posts back and that Agnes brought along her friend, Francesca.
Well, things were obviously pretty good at Chez Carrabis because the other day we woke up to see Bill out there with the girls.
It’s Bill, not William. Just Bill
I didn’t know we had any mature Toms although I shouldn’t have been surprised; any Tom would be drawn to the vicinity of two such attractive ladies.
I went out to greet him. When I asked his name, I thought he said “Roger” (probably some errant chipmunk not getting enough seed).
“I bet your pardon?” I said.
“My name’s Bill.”
Being polite, I said, “Hello, William.”
He quickly corrected me, “It’s Bill, just Bill,” and he held out a wing. He had a good, firm wingshake. Obviously a bird of business, a serious bird, one to be dealt with squarely, probably good with a bread&bourbon stuffing.
Bill harrumphed at that and joined the ladies.
That’s Agnes in front at her seed pile. Francesca’s in back. Bill comes in about 12s in