Monday, January 17, 2011

What the Turkey Taught Me.

I am driving with Rubi perched on the armrest beside me. We come over a hill and suddenly find ourselves face to face with a flock of wild turkeys. Standing in the middle of the gall-darned street, of course. Because that's how they roll.

Note: The term 'flock' seems ill suited for turkeys. Flocks conjure up images of birds in flight soaring high overhead or, at the very least, a bunch of squawking creatures high in the oak trees in the backyard. Turkeys are never high, unless they've been eating some fermented wild berries, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Honestly, a better term would be a herd of turkeys or maybe a twit of turkeys or possibly an idiot of turkeys, standing in the middle of the gall-darned street.

I brake in time. Just barely. I am this close to a big fella who is standing directly in front of my daunting Honda Civic. He is not impressed. With the Civ.

Note: Wait, perhaps he is impressed. With the Civ. He is attempting to climb up on the hood. One might even say that he is mounting the Civic, apparently.


I begin to inch the car forward and he fluffs up like a Thanksgiving centerpiece. He's dancing and jigging and strutting and I'm inching and eewing at the spectacle.

I manage to move around him and I accelerate slightly, hoping to leave Loverboy in the dust. But he surprises me and begins to run. Alongside my automobile, yes!

And that is how I have come to know for a surety that turkeys can run 9 mph.

At least.

Heck, yes!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad Paddy, or Paddington, if you prefer the more formal approach.

1 comment:

ED Buley said...

I live in a town that was named for Turkeys. Kalicoonkill means; cackling hen turkey creek in Dutch. The name was shortened to just Callicoon but there are still a lot of Turkeys around here. I found a Turkey nest once and the eggs were quite large. Your Turkey story reminded me of my own. Thanks for the memories!