Poult crash

The turkeys cock their wattling prismatic heads and turn one eye orb towards me. They must see like rabbits see, almost all around their heads but not directly in front. But it is cute, aside from the science.

They coo, snort, and trill, and I heed their call. With food and water set before them, they sometimes seem to want more. I have no more to give, unless they want to play but even that is not within me, there is too much to do today.

What I learn from them is no nonsense. They fight yes, but mostly they take their time, strutting through their kingdom. I feel kinship with these big birds, as they are not afraid of anything and definitely do not back down when challenged. And yet they are not the most vicious of creatures. Yes a wild dog or fox could most likely take them down, but by god not without a serious adversarial confrontation. They stand up for themselves.

I am their mother. So is my wife. We are two mothers feeding, watering, and taking care of these otherworldly feathery lizards;  strutting flesh and bone. And they are delicious.

They like to escape, and wander. I understand this urge. They are not afraid to take significant shits. Good for them.

One small poult is free, outside the paddock filled with the briar patch where Rabbit lays and watches me. The poult squeaks as I reach for it. Snatch! and it is in my hand, alarm call in the air, wings surprisingly strong for such a small thing. A real living creature in the palm of my hand, wondering why the giant mother bird is being so crazy. I can’t talk to it, a she most likely, but I can put her back in with her family. She flutters down like a plane crash, and I turn to work on the many other things beckoning me.

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