The Turkeys Are Back
They were here again this afternoon: more than a dozen large feathered hunter-gatherers in my yard. I hadn't seen any for some time. Then last summer semester, while I was up late finishing a project for class, there was a giant rustling noise around the house for a long time, out in the dark. When I saw them twice in one day on the weekend, I was glad I hadn't tried to scare off the rustlers.
These are the wild turkeys that Ben Franklin praised. Look at those long legs for scratching. They seem quite clever and well-adapted, unlike the rumors about the overbred farmed ones. When they go away, though, I'm never sure if they've just left, or if the coyotes down the hill have gotten them.
My hunting cats are fascinated by them. I first noticed them, on my way out for an early morning walk, because the tabby was staring at them. And both times, after they left, there was Dovey the black cat, sitting where they had been. What do you suppose she thinks she would do with a turkey?