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