Our National Bird ... Almost

Are you sick of me talking about these wild turkeys yet?

Flock o' Wild Turkeys

Well, then ... I'll try to contain myself and make this the last post about them.

But just look! I count at least 27 of them in this photo ... and this was not all of the ones that were roosting in the back yard that day. By the time I got my camera and stood by the window (thus, the streaks of reflected light), the turkeys sensed my presence and started scooting back into the woods.

Their movements are so funny. Sometimes it looks like they are playing tag, three at a time, chasing each other back and forth across the lawn. Most of the times I saw them, it looked like there was one lookout who would warn the gang, "Humans! Humans!" and the rest would scurry out of sight crying, "Ack! Ack! Get out of my way! Humans!"

There seemed to always be one straggler, though. It reminded me of kids in a pool. The mom calls, "Time to go, kids!" Most of them swim obediently to the pool steps and crawl out of the water. But there will always be one ornery kid that just loves swimming and can't get enough of it, so stays in the pool long after the others have followed orders. After all, what's the mom going to do? Jump in after him and pull him forcefully from the pool?

[Gee. How do I know about this scenario? Hmmm. Yup. I was that kid!]

Watching these turkeys reminded me of that. They were so playful and goofy and yacky. A pure pleasure to watch and set me to giggling.

Did you know that Ben Franklin recommended that the turkey be named the national bird — not the bald eagle?

Author G. T. Klein wrote that the turkey is "wild and wary to the point of genius." I love that description.

Perhaps my affinity to the beast has less to do with its antics, its history and its reputation, and more to do with the fact that I was born on Thanksgiving Day. At least one less turkey was eaten that night. Family legend has it that my dad made a dinner of hot dogs to feed the family on that holiday. I have a perverse pleasure in knowing my entrance into the world altered the course of that celebration.