Turkeys

Turkeys

The early morning daylight leaked through the leafless treetops and
shown on the dull brown sides of a sturdy log cabin. In front of the
cabin, on a thick pine stump, there sat a sleepy eyed man loosely
holding a flintlock in both hands. He was dressed from head to toe in
animal skins. Dirty, straw colored hair pushed its way out from
underneath a fury raccoon hat. The rest of his attire, from his shirt
to his boots, was made of deerskin. His face was hard and raw from the
cold November air. He had a generally stupid expression, one of
defiance against the obviously more powerful forces of God and nature.
The shrill call of some wild bird suddenly broke the silence of the
brisk morning air. The man sprang up quickly, and looked around. He saw
that the sun would soon show itself over the gray trees. He stretched
lazily, spat on the ground, and walked to the door of the cabin. The
door swung open easily as he pushed it with the butt of his gun.

The cabin was more or less empty inside. Two straw mattresses, a crude
wooden bench, and a large storage box were all that rested on the dirt
floor. The only other things to note in the cabin were what hung from
the walls. To the right of the door just under the ceiling the huge
head of some giant wolf glared down. On the other side of the entrance
a massive mountain lion's head hung. On the wall to the left of the
door hung a giant moose's head with an enormous rack. On the other wall
the head of a great grizzly bear. Opposite the door was a buck's head.
Its rack was almost as big as the moose's, even though the head was
much smaller. The man glanced quickly across his trophies. Each was the
largest of its kind. All of them had been a legend, a hunter's dream,
and he had defeated each one. Now as the air turned crisp and cold, as
the winter came and the trees dropped their leaves the great hunter was
focused on another prize.

"Benjamin!" the man called suddenly to what was apparently no more than
a pile of skins resting on one of the mattresses. The pile twitched and
a hand thrust itself out from under the skins. A tall thin young man
suddenly sat up throwing his covers to one side. He groped blindly at
the air for a moment before he realized that his raccoon hat was
covering his eyes. When he pushed this out of the way he blinked then
stared stupidly at the older man.

"Oh, Thomas sir," he said after a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I
suppose I should have been up quite a while ago." He stopped and
stumbled a few steps before he fell hard to the dirt floor. Half of the
pile of skins was still wrapped about his legs.

Thomas gazed frowning as his younger aid struggled out of the covers
and pulled on some deerskin clothes over his woolen undergarments. The
youth suddenly popped to his feet and eagerly said, "There, sir, I'm
ready to go now." Thomas frowned again and pointed at the floor where
the raccoon hat lay upside down. "Oh of course! How could I forget
that," Benjamin said clumsily stooping to pick it up. He fumbled with
it for a moment before plopping it crookedly on his head. He stood
straight up at attention as the legendary hunter surveyed him. His legs
and arms were two long and thin for his small body. His pants, which
the lad had made himself, were poorly stitched and too loose in one leg
and too tight in the other. One boot was larger than other making that
foot flop as he walked. He had somehow managed to put his shirt on
backwards without noticing, and to finish the look, the tail of the
raccoon swung down in front of one eye blocking half of his
vision.

Thomas sighed and turned to the door saying, "Very well, Benjamin, it's
time for us to go."

Benjamin lifted the tail away from his bright blue eyes and watched the
hunter walk to the door. "But where are we going?" he asked.

Thomas turned around. "Why, surely, even you must know that tomorrow is
the great thanksgiving feast?" Benjamin nodded vigorously making the
tail bob in front of his boyish face. "And do you know what that
means?" Thomas asked.

The youth lifted his head proudly, took a deep breath, and said, "It is
great feast that we are having to thank God for his benevolence in
showing us this wonderful land, bringing us through the terrible
winter, giving us peace with the natives, sending a bountiful harvest,
and . . ."

"No, no, you idiot!" Thomas interrupted him suddenly. "That's not what
the feast means at all."

Benjamin scratched his head under the hat looking perplexed. "Well,
then, what does it mean?" he asked.

"It means that we need a turkey, a great, big turkey!" Thomas said
gesturing with his hands spread out wide.

"Of course!" the boy said smacking himself on the forehead. "We need a
great, big . . ." he paused. His looked at Thomas strangely, almost
with fear. "You don't mean . . ." he started to say. The old hunter
nodded before he could finish the question. "No. . . you can't. . ."
the lad said, but Thomas continued to nod. Benjamin stared wide eyed.
"You don't mean to hunt the. . . the. . . the Great Gobbler?" he said
finally finding the words.

Thomas gave a final strong nod and answered, "That's right, lad. I mean
to hunt the Great Gobbler and to kill him, and then I'm going to take
him home and eat him." Benjamin stumbled backwards and tripped over a
root. He slithered back a few feet, his face aghast. "Oh, come on, get
up," the great hunter laughed. "It is just a bird after all."

Benjamin plopped his hat back onto his head. The tail was covering the
other eye this time. He swallowed hard and then shakily got up. Thomas
took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. "Come now, Benjamin, it's
off to the hunt," he said, and they trudged into the thick of the woods
just as the sun peeked over the tips of the leafless branches to the
east of them.

The two of them walked deep into the forest. Thomas tiptoed quickly and
quietly along, hardly making a sound. Beside him Benjamin strolled
whistling and kicking up the millions of fallen leaves. Now and then
Thomas would sniff the air or inspect the ground, and then suddenly
change direction. The great hunter led them in winding circles for many
long hours, and the sun had already reached its zenith and was well
into its journey to the west when they finally stopped to rest.

Thomas sat down and leaned against a tall oak. He was breathless from
the walking. He laid his gun beside him and closed his eyes. Benjamin
stood scratching his head and munching on a handful of berries that he
had picked along the way. "You know," he said. "Judging by the wind
currents we've had lately, and the relatively dry weather, the trees
losing their leaves, the berries coming out, the mating patterns of the
wild turkey, and. . ."

"What are you getting at?" Thomas grumbled.

Benjamin scratched his head again. "Well, I'm not entirely sure, but it
seems to me that the perfect place for a large flock of wild turkeys to
be resting is right over there," he said pointing to a large thicket of
deep green bushes that would not lose their leaves all winter.

Thomas grabbed his gun and stood up. "Very well then, you go into the
thicket and scare up the flock," he said. "I'll shoot a bird when they
come up." By now he was desperate for any type of turkey and willing to
try anything.

"All right, I'll run into the bushes, and you shoot the birds out of
the air beside me," Benjamin said excitedly. He had evidently forgotten
how inaccurate flintlock rifles were. Without hesitation the boy ran
into the thick of the bushes, and suddenly a great flock of wild
turkeys rose, darkening the sky. Thomas fired into the air, and a large
bird landed beside Benjamin. "Oh, we got one!" he yelled picking it up
by the neck and dancing for joy. His raccoon tail hit him in the face
repeatedly as jumped up and down.

"Yes, yes now bring it here," Thomas said acting apathetic, but he was
relieved to have a turkey. Thomas took it by the neck and turned to
carry it away, but he stopped when he heard a cry come from behind
him.

Benjamin was staring wide eyed and open mouthed at the bushes. The wind
rustled through the dry green leaves and stirred them. Then Thomas saw
it too. Amidst the leaves gently waving in the wind were the tail
feathers of a great turkey. Each feather was at least twice the length
of a man's hand. The bushes parted as if a giant knife was cutting
through them, and then in front of them the Great Gobbler stepped
out.

It was a massive bird, at least five feet tall from the top of its
bald, wrinkled head to its evilly clawed toes. The black feathers
rustled in the wind and, as it puffed out its chest, the bird looked
like a great monster that had come to strike them down. It twisted its
head, and the great flaps of skin that hung from its chin slapped
against its neck. One beady, evil, little eye stared them down.

Behind it was another abnormally large turkey, probably its mate.
Thomas dropped the comparatively small bird and looked greedily at the
two huge birds. He reloaded his rifle. Benjamin looked with fear at his
leader. "No, sir, don't try it!" he yelled. "You know what they say, 'A
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!'" The wind somehow added a
strange tone to his voice, but it was not as strange as the look in the
hunter's face. He stared hungrily at the birds as he approached slowly
and silently with his gun held at the ready.

"But they also say," Thomas whispered. "The bigger they are the harder
they fall." Just as he said this the huge bird leapt into the air and
fanned its wings out. Both of them thought that it was flying away in
escape, but actually it was pouncing. As it started to come down Thomas
fired fatally through the Great Gobbler's chest. It landed heavily,
crushing the hunter beneath its massive body. Benjamin cried out in
horror and tried to run away, but as he did, the other turkey took to
the air. In a crazed fury the slightly smaller bird slammed into a
sycamore tree snapping its spine. Benjamin, who had stopped under the
tree, could only watch in horror as the huge body slipped from branch
to branch and eventually landed on the poor youth, crushing the life
out of him.

There are three morals to this story. Benjamin remembered one when he
realized that the one turkey in Thomas's hand was worth more than the
two huge ones in the bushes. Thomas also remembered that he could
defeat a bigger opponent because it would fall harder. Unfortunately,
they both forgot the third and final moral. They both let the turkeys
get them down.