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Love is for the birds?

3 min read

Remember a couple of weeks ago, when I told you about buying my son a turkey for a pet? And how, after he asked for months, he was absolutely ecstatic to have this turkey and promised to love him forever? (So far so good in that respect!)

Well, a friend on Facebook mentioned it was smack dab in the middle of turkey season and I might want to keep Roger – yes the turkey is named Roger – contained until it ended. It seemed like sound advice. We put him in a pen that had access to our outdoor corral, so he could get into the sunlight and fresh air, but couldn’t wander into a field where a hunter may be tempted to shoot.

It seemed like it would serve a dual purpose of teaching Roger where to go for food and water, and thereby facilitate his return to the protection of the barn at night.

My son would visit several times a day, providing several types of foodstuffs from which Roger could choose. Pelleted and textured grains, freshly picked grasses, and fruit scraps from our kitchen were some of his selections. Roger’s water was freshened often, and Roger would stand and allow my son to pet his back and head.

Last week, we let him outside for the day, and he strutted and fluffed his way around the barnyard. The occasional gobble could be heard as he meandered around. Every time someone would walk through the yard, Roger would head their direction to have his head scratched.

That afternoon, my son went out to mow the grass. When he fired up the lawn mower, Roger came running toward him, and then walked back and forth across the yard with each pass my son made, making certain he was seen and patted sporadically.

Despite sneaking out the door for church Sunday, we had to carefully navigate around Roger, who managed to hear the door and followed us to the car. (One child suggested loading him up and taking him with us, but I think gobbling during the sermon is frowned upon.)

Sunday night, after Roger was safely tucked away in his pen in the barn, I sent my son to the chicken coop for eggs. He took longer than usual and returned to the house drenched in sweat.

“I had to chase a hen through the field,” he said.

“Did you catch her?” I asked.

“Nah, I had to let her go,” he replied.

“No, Buddy, we don’t just let our chickens go. We have to find her,” I continued.

“Roger doesn’t need a girlfriend that bad, Mom,” he answered. “Besides, she was pretty fast.”

Where I believed he accidentally let one of my chickens loose, he was talking about a WILD turkey hen. How I wish I had seen him chasing her, thinking he could catch her.

We talked about the dangers of chasing wildlife, of mixing wild and domestic animals, disease transmission, and the like. He promised not to try to get Roger any more girlfriends.

I mean, really. Sneaking around to escape the love of one turkey is enough.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.

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