Hello there. My name is Kevin. I love those little berries that are on the russian olive trees this time of year. I love them so much that I found myself alone in the middle of a suburb with a plentiful russian olive population. The other stupid flocking turkeys that live in the area, don't know what they're missing.
Did you know that a group of turkeys is actually called a rafter? I bet not. Only turkeys called Kevin who use google know that.
You might be thinking Kevin is a silly name for a turkey, but the young girl who named me thought it was utterly approriate for some reason. I try my best to ignore her and her dog that wants to come out and say hello. At least I'm pretty sure that's what he's saying when he jumps up and down behind the picture window. It's hard to tell with all his whining.
For the past three mornings, I go to the big russian olive bush in the girl's front yard and scrounge for berries in the grass. When I eat all of those, I jump up and nip them off the branches. It's very good exercise, you know. But now, this girl, she comes out every darn morning, in the middle of my berry breakfast, with her backpack on and begging to have her picture taken with me.
No freakin way. I don't care how much distance is between me and her, it's not enough.
I run as fast as my long, meaty turkey legs will carry me into the safety of the neighbor's yard across the street, and then work my way into the backyard of the lady next to them and into the places only turkeys like me know to go to hide from camera happy little girls.
Can't a lonely turkey eat breakfast in peace?
A rafter? That's quite strange.
ReplyDeleteI thought so too, but Kevin felt the need to point it out.
ReplyDeleteSoooo...is Kevin invited to Thanksgiving then?
ReplyDeleteMaybe I can leave a trail of russian olive berries leading to the door for Kevin... you know as an invitation to, umm, dine with us on Thanksgiving.
ReplyDelete