The Not-So-Wild Turkey by Helen Chappell
In my youth, for a couple of semesters, I would get up early to make a morning class. Leaving home around seven-thirty or eight, I would ride down a country road between fields and woodlots, and always see what wildlife was hovering on the edge of creeping exurbia. There were always deer hit by cars on the side of the road ~ a feast for eagles. There were also plenty of live deer. Once there was even a stray horse that looked none
too thrilled as he trailed a lead and clopped up the road, turning in at a driveway. He knew where he was going, and, from the look he gave me, I knew he didnâ€™t want or need my help. Neither did the turkeys. Over the years, Iâ€™ve kept an eye on a f lock of turkeys that seem to live in a woodlot not too far from town. A few years ago there were maybe five or six of them picking bugs off the weeds at the side of the road, a cock and several hens. They were very cool, I thought.