9 am and they just left. A family of fifteen. Talk about ANIMALS! By the end of the meal, they’d knocked a tray to the ground, there was food everywhere, and 2 of the kids were pooping in the bushes. And they didn’t even pay!! I turned my back for a minute and they’d run off. I’d try to catch them, but 6 ladies just walked in, there’s a group of 7 due any minute, and a party of 16 this afternoon. You’d think they’d have the courtesy to call in a reservation. But of course not. They are TURKEYS after all.
When some people buy a new house they inherit a lawn mower, or even furniture. But when we moved in, we got a whole flock of wild turkeys. The Dole House – our new home – sits atop a hill (Dole Mountain), overlooking a salt marsh, a portion of the Portland Trails hiking system and an Audubon refuge. And YES it is lovely. As the turkeys can attest. B/c daily, like clockwork, they make their way across the land & busy intersections to feast, roost, and do their turkey business in our yard.
These bird sandwiches have become an increasing point of fascination for our entire family. They’re so engrossing, in fact, that we now adjourn upstairs, or to the kitchen, for a good ole dose of (what we term) Turkey TV. All four of us – five including the dog – stand pressed against the windows gazing out in wonder at the prehistoric beasts littering our yard.
Each & every morning, and sometimes noon & night, I restock the buffet. We have twelve feeders. Several of them are empty w/in an hour or two of being filled.
So we’ve also taken to tossing them seed directly when they show up, much like chicken farmers.
I cannot tell you how funny it is, watching full-grown turkeys hustle up the hill towards us like domesticated pets. They’ve grown so accustomed to the routine, they barely even flinch when the dog comes out. They just keep boogie-ing round the yard on their turkey stilts. Keeping step w/ the sunflower seeds. Vacuuming up every morsel. And fighting.
That’s right. FIGHTING. I’d heard of turkey jerky, but never jerky turkeys. The mommas and babies, you can’t help but go Awwwwww.. but some of the bigger ones are just plain awful.
If I weren’t utterly opposed to firearms, I’d be out there shopping for Thanksgiving. Let’s face it. Turkeys are not the cutest most cuddly birds to begin with. Unless you’re an amorous turkey I’d be hard-pressed to find one appealing. But it’s even harder feeling the love for a big ass bird who’s pecking his much smaller sibling over some free grain. Especially when that trough of freedom overflows 7 days a week w/out fail. Listen up mean turkeys! You better get sweet, and soon, or we might be pulling out the mayo.