The Misadventure Begins
It all began on a bright, sunny day in early May. Birds were singing. Flowers were blossoming. It seemed an innocent enough sort of way to begin spring. Enter The Mom and Dad. The Mom and Dad went to the feed store to pick up some dog food and chicken food. But lo and behold, it was indeed spring.
Now, some of you may not know this, but in spring animal feed stores get these shipments of tiny peeping baby things. The usual suspects were there, right enough--baby chickens and baby ducks. Chicks and ducklings, if you want to use proper names. But this shipment was different. This time, there was a new face in the neighborhood. A poult.
Poults: that's what they call baby turkeys, apparently. Frankly, we would have preferred turkeylings, because that's more endearing than shortening it to turks, but we can see how that might get a little hard to pronounce after a time. Try saying it ten times fast. You might end up with a Turkey-Legs mantra after the 5th or 6th.
Anywhoo, that's neither here nor there. What is here-and-there, is the list of facts that you must be aware of to fully understand what happened next:
The Mom had wandered over to see the new chicks and ducklings, when she noticed a brooder full of baby turkeys behind her. They were all huddled together under the lamp. Except one. It was pacing back and forth and cheeping to her. She walked over to look at some more chickens, and this little one followed her as far as it was able. It almost went back to the warmth of the lamp, but then it didn't. Curious, Mom went over to the turkey brooder and started moving her hand back and forth in front of the glass. The baby turkey continued to follow her hand. It was love. But ah ha, The Mom was wise. The Mom knew she had no use for a turkey, though she had considered getting a duck. The adoring antics of this little one would not be enough.
...Or they might not have been, had not The Farmers entered the scene, stage right.
The Farmers were a good, down to Earth sort of family. The Mom, Dad, and OUR family, on the other hand, are a bit on the crazy-dreamer-artist-space-and-computers side of the fence, with a self-sustaining-wannabe twist. The Farmers came up from behind while a salesman was trying to pressure The Mom into buying a turkey (or a dozen of turkeys, you know, whatever works). They might have mentioned raising a bird for Thanksgiving, discussed the deliciousness of last year's edition, and asked to buy two of them. The Mom panicked. In seconds it was over: she had caught up the little one under her hand and said she'd buy it. Then she marched over the counter and did just that. No thank you, she didn't need a box, she'd just tuck little Doodle, as the wee one was soon dubbed, close to her hurting heart and snuggle her there. The baby turkey had no objections to this at all.
Buyer's remorse would not kick in until much, much later, for she was quite indignant and possessive of the baby turkey as we left the store. No way was someone going to eat this little one.
The reaction of the family was mixed, but mostly in the supportive. This was going to be our little turkey, and we would love her. We had raised our chickens up to adulthood without incident a few years prior. How different could a baby turkey be?
Now, some of you may not know this, but in spring animal feed stores get these shipments of tiny peeping baby things. The usual suspects were there, right enough--baby chickens and baby ducks. Chicks and ducklings, if you want to use proper names. But this shipment was different. This time, there was a new face in the neighborhood. A poult.
Poults: that's what they call baby turkeys, apparently. Frankly, we would have preferred turkeylings, because that's more endearing than shortening it to turks, but we can see how that might get a little hard to pronounce after a time. Try saying it ten times fast. You might end up with a Turkey-Legs mantra after the 5th or 6th.
Anywhoo, that's neither here nor there. What is here-and-there, is the list of facts that you must be aware of to fully understand what happened next:
- First, is that poults, which we shall hereafter refer to as baby turkeys because we are inexplicably adverse to the name "poult" (which reminds us of poultry, which reminds us of meat--GASP), are very fluffy, very small, and very cute.
- Second, The Mom was mourning. She had lost someone very beloved to her a day or so prior to this, and had a very hurting heart.
- Third, to say no was unthinkable.
The Mom had wandered over to see the new chicks and ducklings, when she noticed a brooder full of baby turkeys behind her. They were all huddled together under the lamp. Except one. It was pacing back and forth and cheeping to her. She walked over to look at some more chickens, and this little one followed her as far as it was able. It almost went back to the warmth of the lamp, but then it didn't. Curious, Mom went over to the turkey brooder and started moving her hand back and forth in front of the glass. The baby turkey continued to follow her hand. It was love. But ah ha, The Mom was wise. The Mom knew she had no use for a turkey, though she had considered getting a duck. The adoring antics of this little one would not be enough.
...Or they might not have been, had not The Farmers entered the scene, stage right.
The Farmers were a good, down to Earth sort of family. The Mom, Dad, and OUR family, on the other hand, are a bit on the crazy-dreamer-artist-space-and-computers side of the fence, with a self-sustaining-wannabe twist. The Farmers came up from behind while a salesman was trying to pressure The Mom into buying a turkey (or a dozen of turkeys, you know, whatever works). They might have mentioned raising a bird for Thanksgiving, discussed the deliciousness of last year's edition, and asked to buy two of them. The Mom panicked. In seconds it was over: she had caught up the little one under her hand and said she'd buy it. Then she marched over the counter and did just that. No thank you, she didn't need a box, she'd just tuck little Doodle, as the wee one was soon dubbed, close to her hurting heart and snuggle her there. The baby turkey had no objections to this at all.
Buyer's remorse would not kick in until much, much later, for she was quite indignant and possessive of the baby turkey as we left the store. No way was someone going to eat this little one.
The reaction of the family was mixed, but mostly in the supportive. This was going to be our little turkey, and we would love her. We had raised our chickens up to adulthood without incident a few years prior. How different could a baby turkey be?
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| See cuteness. See cuteness sit. See cuteness sleep. Cuteness is very cute. |
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