The wild turkeys were back in our yard this weekend. I almost stepped right on one while I was ambling about, until she reared up, wings spread, to get my attention. I made an involuntary surprised sound when I saw how close they were and took a few steps back. Since there were six of them and only one of me, I slowly retreated. I’ll admit it—I’m a little scared of turkeys. I’ve seen the male chase a motorcycle down the street. Somehow they’ve managed to keep the numbers in their urban posse up despite the coyotes, so I wasn’t about to mess with them. No soup jokes. Instead, I ran inside to alert the children that nature was happening in our yard.
Later on, while I was trimming back the wilderness in the front of the house, I heard Husband’s voice from the porch:
Him: Hey, I see another wild turkey!
Him: Down by the street.
(Me, looking around)
Me: That's where I am. I don’t see it.
Me: You mean me, don’t you? I’m the turkey. (sigh)
One of these days, I’ll see the jokes coming.