Sheltered Islander

Sheltered Islander: Post-Holiday Turkey Talk

“Lewis, what does that new sign say over the entrance to the farm?”

“Don’t know, Shirley, but I heard it says free-range turkeys, pre-seasoned for all tastes.”

“Darn, I wish we turkeys could read.”

“When turkeys fly, my dear. When turkeys fly….”

“Let’s go hang out with the Mexican turkeys, Lewis. They get to eat all those delicious beans and peppers and they have tequila in their water pans.”

“No Shirley, they have jalapeño peppers in their beans. Haven’t you ever noticed how they all have burnt tail feathers?”

“Okay. Well, the German turkeys are fed bratwurst, sour krout and beer. Let’s hang out with them.”

“Maybe, but only for a little while. Once they get drunk, they get into arguments with the Japanese turkeys over who builds the better import cars. We could visit the Scottish turkeys, but nobody understands what they’re saying.”

“How about the British turkeys, Lewis? They are very polite. They drink tea and try to solve the mystery about where turkeys go after they are bought.”

“We go to a forever home, just like dogs and cats. What home is complete without a turkey? We fertilize the carpet, eat crumbs off the floor, and peck children who won’t get out of bed.”

“We could visit the Polynesian turkeys. They have coconut milk and seafood. Plus, I love those flower necklaces that they eat.”

“We’ll be social tomorrow, Shirley. Let’s go back to our own group. Back to Guinness beer and boiled potatoes and turkeys who tell grand stories.”

“Fine, but if they get drunk and try to get us to riverdance again, I’m leaving for the Mexican guys.”

“Hey look, those two ladies who just pulled up are looking at us.”

“Oh Lewis, maybe we’ll get adopted! Look, one lady brought a big metal container. She wants us to come over.”

“Yes she does, this could be our big day! She wants me to sit in the container. Maybe she’s planning to make it into a bed for me.”

“Oh, isn’t that lovely? And the other lady wants me. Oh, Lewis, she’s squeezing my thighs and… Hey! Stop that! My, but she’s getting personal.”

“Look, honey, they’re paying for us. We’re free! We’re gonna have families! We’ll have cats and dogs to talk to and I will be given a spot on the couch!”

“I’m gonna sleep on the bed with them Lewis. They’ll pet me and occasionally give me a nice bath. I’ll show them what an excellent watch turkey I make by gobbling in alarm whenever somebody comes to the door.”

“Oh boy, Shirley, it looks like we’ll get to travel together in the back of the car. You think there’s any chance we might be going to live in the same house?”

“My, that was a short ride, Lewis. They’re pulling into a farm. Who’s that man walking toward the car? He’s covered in feathers and what’s that in his hand?”

“Uh-oh. Be quiet, Shirley. I think that’s an axe in his hand and I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this…”

“Do you think he could be one of those ax-murderers? Like in the movies?”

“No, Shirley. Ax murderers all wear hockey masks. Maybe he had to execute a turkey with an attitude problem like Big Jake.”

“You mean Mr. ‘My comb is bigger than your comb?’”

“Yup. We all knew he had the biggest comb, that’s why we called him Big Jake, but he never passed up a chance to rub our beaks in it. He’s gonna open the door. Stand up straight, Shirley. Act nonchalant.”

“He’s got me, Lewis!”

“Just stay calm and tell me what you see when he takes you behind the shed.”

“Oh! Oh my God, Lewis!”

“What is it Shirley? What is it?”

“Run Lewis! Run! It’s a cookbook! It’s a cookbook!”

If you didn’t understand that last bit, you should watch more Twilight Zone. It’s a good show. The marathon ran on the SyFy channel on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

Happy holidays!

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