Two Toms a’ Struttin’

“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.
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Bill, Putting It On for The Ladies

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.
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Agnes, Francesca and Bill

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.

Bill the Turkey
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

Agnes and Francesca

Some fine lookin’ ladies, these.

I wrote about Agnes, our resident wild turkey, a few posts back. The past few days Agnes has brought along her friend, Francesca.

Agnes and Francesca
That’s Agnes in back. Francesca’s in front.

Agnes, on her own, is quite cordial and talkative with us. She waddles up to the porch windows, stares in, warbles to get our attention then walks back to her spot (where we put seed out for her and her alone. She does dine with Francesca. We suspect they have a history) and scratches the earth to let us know she’s out of seed.

Demanding little hen, yes?

Also quite protective. A while back a chipmunk went after her seed. When such occurs she performs what we call “The Chippie War Dance” and sometimes “The Fluff and Run”.

I prefer Chippie War Dance myself (and please excuse the blurry image. Wildlife photographer I am not).

We expect Francesca will be more directly communicative shortly. Especially as she realizes Agnes can ask for and get seed from us with little more than a warble, wink, cluck and scratch.

But as I wrote in Nothing Ever Dies of Old Age in The Wild, one will discover things in The Wild that one wishes one hadn’t.


Nothing dies of old age in The Wild

Case in point, about a week back I noticed that Bess wasn’t joining her mother and siblings when I put out peanuts, dog food and cookies. I saw her in back, under cover, in the dark.

I called to her and she didn’t move. I talked to her and walked towards her, a cookie in my open hand so she could see it, and tossed it in front of her. She barely came forward and wasn’t able to hold the cookie in her paws. She couldn’t get it to her mouth and I knew then that something had happened, that she was injured and probably wouldn’t last.

The past four nights Heckie, Sheldon, Veronica and Porgy have joined us in the backyard, but no Bess.

And yes, I mourn.

But nothing ever dies of old age in The Wild.

Save

Agnes

It’s the way that she move, the things that she do

I mentioned in WildLife – Heckie, Sheldon, Veronica, Porgy and Bess that we have lots of wildlife in our yard. We encourage it. People who knew me in my NextStage days will remember my frequent posts about one such creature, Agnes the Turkey.

Well, she’s back!

She came back in Spring with her flock and we hadn’t seen her since. We thought she’s moved on/passed over (Nothing Ever Dies of Old Age in The Wild).

And then this morning, as I was sipping some coffee…

Heckie, Sheldon, Veronica, Porgy and Bess still come by nightly, as do Larry and Phil (two adult male raccoons, brothers, we think, and no pictures yet) and Ponchie (an opossum pup, this year’s litter by his size and also no pix yet).

I’ll share more as time allows.

And the Agster, the Aginator, Agnes who keeps our hearts warm and true, is back.