A Turkey is not a Duck
One of the memorable "poultry stories" comes to mind.
Spring was coming, and Dad, always a planner, was thinking ahead.
Sure, Thanksgiving was months away, but he had the ducks and not a lot of cash.
So, he sent away and bought a dozen turkey eggs from Murry McMurray.
The eggs came a few weeks later, and not having an incubator, he decided to put the eggs in the nest of one of the hen ducks. Female ducks, as you know, are not good sitters, but this one was broody and had already started a clutch, that he took away and ate for breakfast one day.
The turkey eggs would satisfy her "maternal needs".
She was quite diligent about her expected family. She sat there day after day waiting, waiting, and waiting some more. She must have had some patience bred into her fluffy little feathers.
Finally the day came and we all were amazed when those little poults pecked their way out of their shells. They were such cute little bundles of fluff!
Mommy duck took to them right away, and of course they imprinted.
She'd take her little family to the pond and try to teach them how to swim.
They didn't seem too interested in becoming Esther Williams, and would just stand at the edge of the water with the bull frogs while she did her aquatic ballet. Mommy, peep, peep, peep.
Mommy duck would try to teach them her language, though I don't think they really caught on.
Sad to say, one morning, only one baby turkey was found alive. A rat or weasel must have found them. Somehow, they always do.
Well, now that mommy duck was down to nurturing her only child, and still trying to make that little turkey into the image of herself, things went downhill fast.
She'd try to teach it to swim. It had no idea.
She'd quack, "Follow me! Quack, quack!" It didn't understand... refused to follow.
Well, the days got shorter and somehow that turkey found its feathers.
It grew to be Tom. Gooble and strut.
And, like every story, this one about the turkey came to an end.
It only took one ax, a decisive cut and run, a little plucking, and some cornbread stuffing. All that was needed beyond that was the lively "political disussion" that Uncle Jack would bring to the dining table. He did.
Sometimes, so do I. Thanks Uncle Jack. You never had difficulty speaking your mind.
Tom was delicious.
For sure, it is hoped that all little strutting turkeys end that way.
Happy Thanksgiving! Don't forget the cranberry sauce, and a good discussion with your family.
And please remember to give thanks.
DTS
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