Friday, November 25, 2011

Turkey Trot

     “Here, turkey turkey turkey!”
     Farmer Bob pushed his way through the chicken and geese looking for the fattened bird. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, but he finally found it sitting in a corner by the coop. He was a little disappointed with how light it felt as he carried it the chopping block. No matter, though, since it was only the two of them for Thanksgiving this year.
     His wife Beatrice was up early, already preparing their big meal. She passed him to fetch eggs as he sharpened his axe. On her way back to the house, she took a closer look at what he was doing, then walked over to his chopping block.
     “Bob,” she said. “There’s something wrong with this turkey.”
     Bob continued to work on the tool. “What do you mean?” he asked.
     “I don’t think it’s a turkey,” she said.
     Bob set down his axe and walked over to get a better look. He bent down toward the bird and examined it, head to toe.
     “You’re crazy, woman,” He finally said. “Them’s turkey feathers if I ever saw ‘em.”
     “They’re turkey feathers all right,” Beatrice said, “but they’re stuck on with tape.”
     Bob poked the creature before him. She might be right, but he wasn’t convinced yet.
     “Also,” she said, “That thing is mighty furry for a turkey. I think it’s the cat.”
     Bob didn’t want to admit he was wrong, but he did think it odd that the turkey didn’t put up a fight when he carried it over. Also, it was purring.
     “Why on earth would the cat be dressed up like a turkey?” Bob scratched his head.
     “I don’t know,” Beatrice said. “And why aren’t you wearing your spectacles?”
     “Couldn’t find ‘em,” said Bob. “Couldn’t find my truck keys, neither.”

     The old Fort pickup hurled down the highway at 90 mph. The turkey at the wheel was still filled with adrenaline. I’m gonna make it, he thought. His left wing hurt from the feathers he plucked, but it was worth it for the distraction he created. Rolling down the window, he tossed the old man’s glasses onto the road. He should reach the Mexican border by nightfall, then finally be free of this sadistic American holiday.

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