|
The End of an Era — or, The Turkey is Dead
Lennard is dead. Lennard was our turkey. He came with the farm when we moved in over 5 ½ years ago, so I am not sure how old he really was. Whatever his age, he kept it well. He always looked the same to me. Some thought he was a magnificent creature, others, just plain ugly and scary looking.
His many fine attributes made up for his misfortune in the looks department. He was always a gentleman. At feed time he would stand back and let the chickens eat first, always waiting until the last one was finished before he started on his own dinner. Though there were a couple of times when this didn’t happen, usually after someone had forgotten to feed them. Then poor old Lennard would shoo the chickens away from the food and peck any chicken brave enough to venture too close before he had finished.
When he ate, his snood (the thing hanging down over his beak) would roll up and store neatly on top of his nose until he had finished eating. His head was interesting too, because it looked as though his brains (small as they were) were on the outside of his head. To watch him run was very funny. He had ample opportunity to practise his running style after we bought a golden retriever dog. The dog only wanted to play retrieve with him, but Lennard didn’t understand. I have never seen a turkey tuck up his wings and run as fast as he did. It didn’t even look like a real run. He kind of wobbled like Mr Wobbly man (the roly poly guy from Noddy). If you can imagine Mr Wobbly man with bird like feet attached to him. He didn’t like the dog, but he was a real people person. If we sat on the ground reading and he was nearby, he would always come over and circle us to see what we were doing. If we didn’t spend enough time with him outdoors, he would come to our windows, look in, and see what we were doing. On meeting Lennard for the first time, the first question most people asked was “Is he your Christmas dinner?” Our answer was always the same. We could never eat Lennard, he was our pet. Besides, can you imagine plucking that many feathers? It is easier to go to the freezer section at the shops and choose one of his relatives. |
Comments
|
|
|
|
|
Posted by
|
|
|
|
|
Posted by Bethany