Can we talk turkey

A flock of Toms flapping their beaks and wattles

Hey, Tom. It’s me, Tom.

Oh, hey, Tom.

How are you, Tom?

Tom, I’m feeling great. Gobble gobble. You?

As our friend the rooster might say, on this fantastic day, I am the cock of the walk. Just took a dust bath! Dig those tail feathers Tommy boy.

How are you really?

Good! I’m good.

Hey, Tom, get a load of those hens over there. Gobble gobble.

Those are some good-looking butter balls. See that one shaking her tail feathers?

I know. I think she likes me. Do you think she’s impressed by my wattle?

Who isn’t? It’s big.

Before you go to talk to the hens I need to get something out of the way… I’m working on my Christmas shopping list and I was wondering.. what would you would like Santa to bring you for Christmas?

Oh dear. Scratch that chore off your holiday list, Tom.

Why?

There’s something I want to talk to you about.

What’s that?

Thanksgiving. Have you noticed we have all put on a little bit of weight lately?

More like a lot of weight! I’m downright plump.

Yeah…about that…The turkey that got pardoned last year, Old Tom, told me something I thought you show know, Tom.

Oh, I know him. The turkey named Old Tom? Gobble gobble.

We are all named Tom.

What did Tom say, Tom?

He said a few days before Thanksgiving last year everyone he knew got deported. Said the rumor is they were killed and eaten by the humans. 46 milllion.

What?

Lower your gobble! Shush!

Every time things seem to be going just great in this life up comes bad news. Why do they kill us and eat us?

Aw, you won’t believe it.

Try me. Gobble gobble.

To celebrate some ridiculous high calorie holiday commemorating a feast they shared with indigenous peoples back east some 400 years ago. Story goes they were starving because they didn’t know what they were doing so the indigenous people saved their tail feathers which led to the first tailgate party with wings.

We all make mistakes. Well, the “newcomers” aren’t starving now, are they?

So they commemorate their salvation by giving thanks and arguing and overeating until they’re stuffed like bean bags and their arteries are engorged with plaque and families break up over gravy boats and then they pause and with profound reverence and gratitude in their grateful little hearts they worshipfully watch a game with a ball made from pig skin. Pig skin! Then they all become human butterballs, get heart attacks and die.

So, is it true, Tom? We are all going to die soon?

Unless we get a pardon from Mayor Greenjeans like Old Tom did last year.

Damn. I wish they’d gone with Ben Franklin‘s idea.

What’s that?

Make turkeys the national bird. Instead of the stupid eagle. What a dumb bird.

Yeah. Gobble gobble. Then we’d be the cool birds riding the gold balls on top of flagpoles in parades.

Yeah. And all the dumb eagles would be the main course on T-Day. Covered in cold gravy and room temperature cranberries.

Tom! You know I hate it when turkeys call it T-Day!

Sorry, Tom. My bad. It looks Greenjeans is starting to herd the flock to the trailers.

Our goose is cooked.

So that’s why they fatten us up. I thought it was because they liked us.

So, what happens Tom? Will they cut our heads off with an axe?

No. Old Tom told me they’ll load us up and take us to the big house. And there they’ll stun us with an electric jolt to the head. You won’t feel the thing. Gobble gobble.

What about my beautiful feathers?

Well after they cut your head off, they’ll put you in a machine that will pluck all your feathers. It’s the Plucker1000.

I haven’t even mated yet.

There’s still time big boy. I think that butterball over there likes you. Show her your wattle.

Nawwww.

You can do this. You’re a player, big bird.  They named a liquor after you. Wild turkey.

If I were a wild turkey, I wouldn’t be here behind this fence waiting for the end. Like an extra in Squidgame. At least give us bows and arrows and a head start.

That’s the Hunger Games. This is real life, my friend. You’ve had a great 20 weeks, and you are over 14 pounds and the truth is your time is up. Stiff upper beak. Accept what you cannot change and I forget the rest.

It’s been a beautiful life, Tom. I guess this Thanksgiving I have a lot to be thankful for.

Like what?

A painless electric shock to the forehead.

I like the way you always look on the bright side of things, Tom. Now go show those hens what you’re made of. While you can. And remember, be cool. Don’t go losing your head over some female.

Hey ladies. How are you butterballs doing today? You are looking, sassy, sexy, and plump. I’d like to stuff you and give you a southern style rub.

Gobble gobble. What’s your name?

Tom.

Tom! No way! My cousin’s name is Tom.

Do you know Tom ‘s friend Tom?

Tom and some other turkeys have discovered drumming. They formed an all-drummer band. Have you heard of them?

No. What are they called?

The Tom-Toms. They do an Avant guard version of “Turkey in the straw” that is stunning.

What do you do, Tom?

Eat. Sleep. Take dust baths. By coincidence, ladies, I was just about to take a dust bath. Know what I like to do during a dust bath? I like to groom these beautiful feathers of mine nice and slow. Wing by wing. Any of you ladies care to join me for a little turkey in the straw? Gobble gobble.

Tom! Whi-i-istle! T-o-o-o-m-m-m. WHISTLE!

What? Not now. NOT NOW! I’m working the coop. And besides turkeys can’t whistle.

Tom, it’s Greenjean’s whistle. The grim reaper is whistling Swing Low Sweet Chariot, brother. Time to go. Thanksgiving is calling, Tom.

Hope I end up at a Gospel Mission.

See you around the coop.

See you.

Epilogue: Tom ended up at a Gospel Mission which was his idea of Heaven. His friend Tom ended up escaping. He’s the most wanted bird in Arizona. His picture is everywhere. Some Wild Turkeys say Tom’s out there still.