Pastel Goes Missing
Today was all kinds of scary. After I got home from church, I went out to check on the birds. It's been awfully hot lately and I wanted to make sure the little misting system I set up for them was working. Well, the good news is that it was. The bad news is I found out only four of them were enjoying it.
Pastel was gone.
At first, I didn't worry much. She's a little escape artist and a bit of a brat. She gets out all the time. I just started calling for her, as usual, certain that after a "Pastel! Pastel, sweetie!" or two she'd come running.
But she didn't. She always comes.
This time she didn't. After a few minutes, I was worried. I asked the kids to check the security cameras to see when she had gotten out, and where she might have headed off to. At about 2 pm, we spotted her on the cameras, hopping over the enclosure gate before stepping off and towards the tree line on the property.
2 pm.
That was four hours ago. She'd left four hours ago. Why hadn't she come back for food or water? Why wasn't she answering my call? I've said before, she gets out a lot. But she never strays far from the enclosure. Now, some of you with more turkey experience than I may have already guessed where this is heading. I'll not throw in the spoiler yet for those of you who are just as clueless as I was at the time.
Cue panic attack.
I searched the property like a crazy person, crying and praying and hoping I wouldn't find a pile of feathers somewhere proving she had been eaten by a hawk or someone's stray dog. To my relief, I found no feathers. I didn't find the rest of the bird either.
So I started scouring the neighbourhood, asking everyone I met if they'd seen a little grey turkey. No one had. I even went over to our neighbours, as some boys had been by a couple of weeks ago thinking I'd stolen some of his birds. But he didn't answer the door. His neighbours said that they'd pass the word on to him that I was missing a bird if they saw him.
By now I was frantic. As I'm sure anyone who follows this blog knows, I am prone to overreact. Every time I prayed I got a feeling that she was okay, don't worry. "OKAY?" I thought to myself. "DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT? What does that mean?? Does that means she's dead and she's okay because she's in Heaven now??"
More frantic searching. More tears. More prayers. More still, calm reassurances that my bird was fine, that I needed to not worry, a gentle impression or two that I should go inside and she would turn up later. Me being me, of course, didn't listen. Finally, the gentle prompting came, Flatten the grass.
Along the sparse tree line on the edge of our property, the grass had grown up pretty tall. I waded through it, pushing it this way and that way and calling for Pastel. There wasn't so much as a chirp. I was certain if she were near and could hear me, she would answer my call. She always had before in the past. But now, nothing. At this point, I was certain she was dead and succumbed to sobs. My sister, more practical and faithful than I, continued to search through the tall grass.
Eggs. My runaway had been building a nest and laying eggs throughout her little escapades when she had run off before. Now she was finished, and she had a mind to set those eggs. Well, perhaps a lack of mind. She seemed totally zombified when we found her, just staring blankly ahead as I petted and chastised her. It was only after I started to move her that she made her first sound of the day.
Like Godzilla. I swear, she hissed like a gator. But other than that she didn't really respond. Just durrrr HISSSSSS durrrrrr. I worried she might be dehydrated or something. The toms, I'll grant you, go completely empty headed when they're puffed up in man mode, but I wasn't used to seeing such a lack of response in my hens. I scooped her up and put her on my lap, and it was like breaking a spell. She blinked. She blinked again. Then she looked up at my face, chirped all happily and started peeping and cutting again. "Oh, hi mom. How are you? I was setting eggs. Gee, am I hungry. Did you bring food?"
Pastel was gone.
At first, I didn't worry much. She's a little escape artist and a bit of a brat. She gets out all the time. I just started calling for her, as usual, certain that after a "Pastel! Pastel, sweetie!" or two she'd come running.
But she didn't. She always comes.
This time she didn't. After a few minutes, I was worried. I asked the kids to check the security cameras to see when she had gotten out, and where she might have headed off to. At about 2 pm, we spotted her on the cameras, hopping over the enclosure gate before stepping off and towards the tree line on the property.
2 pm.
That was four hours ago. She'd left four hours ago. Why hadn't she come back for food or water? Why wasn't she answering my call? I've said before, she gets out a lot. But she never strays far from the enclosure. Now, some of you with more turkey experience than I may have already guessed where this is heading. I'll not throw in the spoiler yet for those of you who are just as clueless as I was at the time.
Cue panic attack.
I searched the property like a crazy person, crying and praying and hoping I wouldn't find a pile of feathers somewhere proving she had been eaten by a hawk or someone's stray dog. To my relief, I found no feathers. I didn't find the rest of the bird either.
So I started scouring the neighbourhood, asking everyone I met if they'd seen a little grey turkey. No one had. I even went over to our neighbours, as some boys had been by a couple of weeks ago thinking I'd stolen some of his birds. But he didn't answer the door. His neighbours said that they'd pass the word on to him that I was missing a bird if they saw him.
By now I was frantic. As I'm sure anyone who follows this blog knows, I am prone to overreact. Every time I prayed I got a feeling that she was okay, don't worry. "OKAY?" I thought to myself. "DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT? What does that mean?? Does that means she's dead and she's okay because she's in Heaven now??"
More frantic searching. More tears. More prayers. More still, calm reassurances that my bird was fine, that I needed to not worry, a gentle impression or two that I should go inside and she would turn up later. Me being me, of course, didn't listen. Finally, the gentle prompting came, Flatten the grass.
Along the sparse tree line on the edge of our property, the grass had grown up pretty tall. I waded through it, pushing it this way and that way and calling for Pastel. There wasn't so much as a chirp. I was certain if she were near and could hear me, she would answer my call. She always had before in the past. But now, nothing. At this point, I was certain she was dead and succumbed to sobs. My sister, more practical and faithful than I, continued to search through the tall grass.
Surprise, surprise, she found her. Nestled away under the tall grass, not six feet from the enclosure, was little Pastel, making nary a peep. I was too happy that we'd found her alive and well to be angry. No, at this point I felt pretty sheepish for not heeding the gentle reassurances of my Heavenly Father. He knew where Pastel was all along, and if I'd listened I would have saved myself a lot of tears and stress.
But why hadn't Pastel answered my call? She was there the whole time, surely she could not have missed my cutts and calls for her name. Here's the part you experienced turkey keepers saw coming...
Like Godzilla. I swear, she hissed like a gator. But other than that she didn't really respond. Just durrrr HISSSSSS durrrrrr. I worried she might be dehydrated or something. The toms, I'll grant you, go completely empty headed when they're puffed up in man mode, but I wasn't used to seeing such a lack of response in my hens. I scooped her up and put her on my lap, and it was like breaking a spell. She blinked. She blinked again. Then she looked up at my face, chirped all happily and started peeping and cutting again. "Oh, hi mom. How are you? I was setting eggs. Gee, am I hungry. Did you bring food?"
She sure was proud of those things. I would have let her set them, but a dog or a raccoon got one of the neighbour's turkeys last year when she nested in those trees. Plus I'm pretty sure they're infertile. I'll candle them to be sure, but my boys are dense as granite when it comes to the whole "be a man" thing. They puff up real nice, but they haven't the faintest idea what a hen is for. They tried to mount her a while ago, but all they did was stomp on her stupidly. After the first few times, she's quit laying down for them. They can just go stomp the dirt and be just as productive.
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