A special story in honour of 2013 Thanksgiving. May everyone be grateful for shelter, and that turkey on the table. (Unless you're a weird vegetarian.)
The days have been long and boring. Everyday I sit in the barn or in the pen and wait for my meal to be delivered.
I hear footsteps outside the wooden fence, and stand upright. I see the farmer coming up, with a bucket of grain for me. I gobble eagerly, and race towards the fence. Except I trip, and end up on my face. He then comes forward and places a hand on me. I settle down and eat the grain offered to me. I really love my farmer friend, he is always around, always caring for me. Never leaves me without food. Funny, cause shouldn't he have a job or something?
I look up at his wrinkly face, kind and.... kinda hungry. Hmm.... maybe he likes grain too? I scoop some up in my beaky and fling some up in his face. He sputters and springs back. Guess he dosen't appreciate my gift. Whatever, I think to myself. More for me. With that he leaves, latching the door firmly. I hear him mutter something about buying fattier grain, but don't think much of it.
I think back to a time when I used to have many other turkey friends surrounding me. Everyone squabbling over the grains, and scratching eachother for the best resting places. Now it's just me, and might I be the first to say- Good riddance! I never did much like sharing food and space with those pigs. Although sometimes I do get a little lonely. Every year, a few of us would disappear. Sometimes in a cage, in the pick up. They got to go to some fabulous market. While the others actually got to go IN TO THE HOUSE. It's been my dream to go and see what the farmers house looks like. Although I assume it isn't that pretty anymore cause he always mutters something about financial issues. Then he started selling the turkey's to better homes at the market I guess.
But he would never sell me. I'm his favorite, he told me so. That's why he saved me for last. I'm not sure what I'm being saved for- but I just can't wait. I kick my stubby legs in the air in anticipation, but end up falling onto my tibus. (Butt) Struggling to get up, I screech and gobble my head off. My widdle leggies kick the air desperately but I can't get up. And so I lay there thinking until the farmer comes to help me get up as he always does.
It's getting very close to the time those lucky turkey's got to visit the house and market. Soon it will be my turn to be somewhere else rather than this pen. Not that the pen isn't nice, I tell myself hurriedly. I am grateful for the food and shelter my farmer has provided. Finally, around dusk the farmer returns to my pen. He has a bucket of water and feed to refill my feeder and water feeder. But this time he has this cute little yellow ribbon. Maybe if I go to the market he will tie it around me to make me stand out. I gobble with delight as he folds it around my waist.
"Hold still," he says gently. I peer into his eyes and gobble a yes sir to him. Then I peck his kind wrinkly old hand, to show my affection for him. He rears back again and kinda squints in a mean way. I'm not sure what I did, but he takes my cute widdle ribbon away. I gobble in protest, but for naught. He then takes out a pad of paper. Jotting something done and muttering, "20 pounds! Yes, I will have quite a feast..." Then he wanders away, closing the gate and leaving me staring after him with eyes brimming with curiousity. .
That night I had a bad dream. I imagined I was in the farmers house.... but no I don't remember much now. I tossed and turned and gobbled my way through the night. The next morning the farmer came and put a blanket around me and carried me OUT OF THE PEN. I gobbled and was immediately awake. YES!!!! The time had finally come that I was the last turkey to get the special surprise. We stepped in to the house and my nightmare became reality.
HIS HOUSE WAS A MESS!!! I knew it! I told myself angrily. But then the farmer closed his meaty hands around my neck. I squawked and gobbled. I couldn't help but notice they were no longer frail, wrinkly and kind. They were meaty and murderous. I looked up at his eyes, hoping to see sympathy, but he walked across the room and found the ax. Then he lay me onto the table that he had so obviously prepared. Ping.... The air whistled as the ax came down. Then.
Blood was gushing everywhere. I fluttered my eyes and stared at my blood racing all along the wax paper. The last thing I saw was the farmer:
He folded his hands in a prayer.
Thank you for this last meal. I know I do not have enough money to keep on going, and I am thankful for the turkey that you have provided. I am grateful for this house that I tried so hard to keep, and for the money that the other turkey's meat provided at the year's markets. And thank you for this fat 20 pound turkey.
And then I realized, maybe giving my life wasn't such a bad thing. After all I was able to help my farmer, and as much evil that I saw in his eyes that day- I forgive him. He gave me food and shelter, and that was enough. I know he didn't want to hurt me, but he did it in the matter of survival. If I had been in his shoes- I probably would've done the same thing. So I shut my eyes for the last time, and floated away on a cloud made of mashed potatoes and gravy. Now I am in Turkey Heaven, and am doing just dandy!