Haven’t seen the wild turkeys in more than a year, but last Friday morning they ambled through the yard.
Hmmm… six. More than before.
Isn’t he a Handsome Fellow, showing off for the Gals like that?
Oh…there are more. Eight, I think?
Well. It was good to see them. They wandered off to the back field, and I wandered off to my office to have a look at the pictures.
Fast-forward to around 3 pm. Angel is napping – yes, really asleep – and Hubby is out somewhere. I’m stepping out the back door to take out a trash bag, and there they are, not six feet away…marching single-file down my sidewalk.
All ELEVEN of them.
I drop the bag. I shout, and wave my arms (some neighborhoods have had problems with aggressive birds), which brings Sweet Cleo dashing around the corner of the house. The birds scatter, squawk, flap and fly…
Bowling for Turkeys – Cleo’s favorite game.
And lest you think that Handsome Tom there flap-hopped to the first available branch:
This should give you some perspective.
Yes, turkeys can fly, but not long distances. And no one will ever write sonnets about the grace and beauty of it…
Cleo sat under that tree watching him ( not as intensely as he was watching her) until I made her come inside around 5. She’s spent a lot of time in the last few days watching for them to come back, but there’s been no sign.
I think she liked the game more than the turkeys did…