This is not your typical thanksgiving sentimental jaunt down pleasant thoughts. So, that was your disclaimer. Now, if you are still reading...you are about to get my take on turkeys.
I have two in my house currently. Speciman A has managed to escape from it's pen (read room) and roam the house, neighbourhood school at large, and bus stops without being on time for anything today. Nor was this speciman able to sit at a table, do homework, play on the computer without disobeying every single instruction that it was given. I have this funny belief that my turkeys should be educated. I also think that they ought to listen. I put all sorts of good ingrediants into my turkeys, like healthy food choices, good books for the eyes, music for the soul, fun for the excitment. I can be fun. Really, I can.
Now, before you forget, I have a second speciman. The smaller of the two. This one has been a bit off colour and needed some stuffing up. The problem is that it is refusing to be stuffed with anything...including peanut butter sandwiches that are usually the last resort of bribery in this house. My little turkey instead has been opinionated, whiney, bossey and downright nasty by turns. This is the turkey in the yard that just gobbles with no substance.
From turkey fights, to turkey noises, to turkeyish shennanigans, I was tired of turkey and was really thinking about farming cows instead. My wee birdies decided to finish my day of trying to relax and have fun with them by dressing up in over feathered costumes and then knocking over the juice. It went everywhere. I am sorry I was too annoyed to take a picture. Juice on the floors, the table, paperwork, chairs, carpet (It went that far) and so on. The end result has been that every button on the pressure potted stove that is my brain got pushed and exploded. In a rant that hasn't been bettered in a long while.
It was long and loud and made you want to lick the stuffing out of them.
I called a friend and mentioned scrapbooking. I packed em up with no more words uttered and motored to said refuge...more for the turkey's sake than mine. But then, Speciman A decided to cluck out an apology and it was actually worth hearing. Then, I started to scrap pictures from last Fall.
My turkeys are rosy and beautiful. They have individual creative personalities. They wear their feathers with joy and abandon. Perhaps too much so sometimes, but that is their gift. They are loud and boisterous. Baa baa black sheep was actually sung in harmony today at top volume. Piano playing is happening. Art showcases on my refrigerator. They have beaks that offer soft kisses and wings that can go places that most cannot. The feathers of their hugs are warm and endearing. Maybe I will keep farming my turkeys after all. Just remind me that they will start their own coop one day and I will be just fine...maybe.
For the record...I have not roasted my turkeys nor cooked their goose. I have however stuffed them into their beds with hugs and a promise of a better today tomorrrow, for which I am very grateful. Night!
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