March 17, 2008
Apparently, it's completely possible to scare the shi-tang-tang right out of a turkey. They also know how to fly. Who knew?
Yesterday I was driving on a back country road in Maine. James was strapped securely into his carseat, and we were cruising down the road listening to what is, quite possibly, the greatest song of all time--What It Takes, by Aerosmith. James was staring out the window, composing a verbal inventory of the sights and sounds: twactoh, bawn, moo cow, cah on byocks, etc. (translation: tractor, barn, moo cow, car on blocks, etc.) while I sang to the music and daydreamed of heaven.
More specifically, I was thinking, "When I get to heaven, instead of angels playing harps I'm going to request the Indigo Girls playing this song, for ever and ever and ever..."
As we came around a snowy bend, I was met with a sight that left my jaw hanging wide. It was a long row of turkeys--at least seven or eight of them--flying over the road. Apparently, turkeys aren't much for soaring into the sunset, because these birds were flying about six feet above the pavement.
There was a parade of traffic behind me, so slamming on the breaks was completely out of the question--because seriously, I'd rather have a dead bird to contend with than a Ford F150 Long Bed Crew Cab wedged into my back seat. I simply held my breath and drove straight toward the rainbow of flying gobblers, hoping all the way that one of those monstrosities didn't get it's feedbag thingy stuck in the ski rack on the top of my Toyota.
I closed my eyes for a split-second, anticipating the moment of impact, and was relieved when I never heard any kind of a *thud.* Much to my relief, I didn't open my eyes to find a cartoon turkey with Xs for eyes limply sprawled across my hood. Instead, I found my windshield covered in a turkey poop or two...or four.
I literally scared the shitoodles right out of those ugly birds.
Welp, there's another line item to cross off of my master list of life goals.