Give Thanks, and Take Turkeys

Close-up of turkey at turkey farm

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Close-up of turkey at turkey farm

Emma Copple, staff writer

     The autumn sky shines blue as the meeting’s attendees gather. The barn was empty and large, but voices filled the room. Talk of the year’s successful harvest and chitter of the week to come hushed when the first American pardoned turkey, Hamlet, reached his feathers for the gavel. He stood at a plywood podium that had a plaque that read “founding of the presidentially pardoned turkeys” and demanded that the room become attentive. 

    “Alright fellow turkeys, we gather here today to refresh our annual ongoing.”  Whoop whoops and cheers began to fill the room until Hamlet reached for the gavel and filled the space wall to wall with silence. 

  “Ah ah hemh,” Hamlet cleared his voice and started into a speech. “Our harvests this year were delightful. We work hard every year to provide our country with non-turkey side dishes.” 

   Their plan to take to the streets annually commences one week before the murderous holiday. And so, their plantings are gathered. Some turkeys lined the streets with signs and others scattered themselves among shops in hopes of inspiring keepers to cancel their turkey shipment.  When they arrived home to the farm, they reviewed their successes. 

   One of president Bush’s turkeys declared, “Mr Bilmer on the corner agreed to permanently cut down his turkey footprint.” 

   “We will be running low on our turkey replacement side dishes at the rate we were selling,” asserted a group of Nixon turkeys.  There were gobbles and cheers for their successes. But in the corner, a black shadow covered the voice of a fairly newcomer. 

   Her voice rather annoyingly croaked, “Our system is rigged entirely. We can save more turkeys if we go on the offensive.”  The turkeys squabble in confusion, and one of Barack’s turkeys questioned her. 

  “How with our feathers and scrawny yet stubby legs could we pull it off?” Barack asked.   The mystery turkey stepped from the darkness to uncover feathers tinted orange, and she began elaborating on her blueprints. By the end of the night, she had convinced every turkey in the room to execute the plan that next morning. 

   The turkeys rose with the sun that morning. Their eyes were stuck squinted, intent with retaliation. The harvest is gathered and carted from the farm, and they assumed their typical positions on a street corner that the orangish turkey said just happened to carry a truckload of turkeys by every year like clockwork. The team planned to put one turkey at every stoplight, and if it turned red the baited turkey would walk behind and around the truck as if it had escaped because if there is one thing that can certainly be counted on it is man’s greediness for one more. They waited in position for hours until the bulky truck came barreling through the street. There were two men making the delivery, the one behind the wheel had a somewhat scruffy goatee and his partner wore quite thick rimmed glasses and they were both dressed in gloomy gray jumpsuits that could not have done less for their figures.

    The first light stayed green, their first opportunity was down. The second changed from yellow to red in time for the truck to get caught, but the driver did not notice the turkey strutting around beside the driver’s seat. However, it gave them the chance to communicate with the hostages. 

   Hamlet told them their fate: “You are subject to an untimely death if you’re to stay in this truck”

   They relayed their plan, and by the time the light turned green, the turkeys in the back understood their roles. Luck would have to be on their side this day as they were down to their last stoplight. Everyone cheered when the shining red bulb slowed the truck to a stop. After a revision, the lure turkey flounced around the truck to the passenger’s window.

  The man’s eyes outgrew his face, and with a panic he hit his partner and said, “Jim, Jim, Jim, look one of em got out.” The driver with the sad facial hair just look irritated.

   “Aw mercy, how could any of those suckers escaped? Alright, let’s take this bread here and lure him back.”

   They hopped out and offered their lunches. The turkey pretended to fall into a trance keeping her eyes only on the food. Slowly the men tiptoed around to the back making sure to keep her attention. When they opened the gates and threw in the sandwiches instead of diving after the food, the turkeys stormed the open gate trampling the helpless men. 

  The turkeys paraded and skipped through the streets until they arrived at their farm. The turkeys from the truck that had only seen cramped living conditions frolic through the open fields that suddenly belonged to them.