I'm off to bag a turkey this morning. Literally. I'll go to the store and buy a turkey and put it in a bag an bring it home. Beats the hell out of tromping through the woods, cold and wet, looking for a wild turkey to shoot.
We've certainly come a long way from the hunter/gatherer stage of our evolution. If I had to go out today to actually hunt down a wild turkey, shoot it or trap it or hit over the head with a tree limb, however you actually go about getting one of them, bring it back home without getting my car all messy, pluck the feathers off the carcass, gouge the nasty stuff out of the insides, clean it up nice and pretty, stick it on a spit over the fire to cook, we would be eating spaghettios for Thanksgiving dinner. Thank goodness we've evolved to the point where someone else does all that for me.
Have you ever seen a turkey out in the real world? I've encountered them on the golf course many times. There is flock of them that inhabit the woods around the second hole of the golf course and they frequently stroll across the fairway, oblivious to the risk of getting conked by a mishit ball or run over by golf cart. That is, when hunting season is not in force. Then they blatantly flaunt their freedom from worry, figuratively thumbing their noses at the world. Once hunting season starts, though, the chhickenshit ugly little bustards hunker down in the scrub and refuse to show their sorry feathered asses. It amazes me how they can saunter across the fairways and then totally disappear the moment they enter the woods. You'd think they had some kind of camoflage or something.
Of course, if you consider how those neatly packed frozen turkeys got to the supermarket, you might reconsider the eating of one. Many times I've had to listen to daughter doctor Carrie's diatribe about the inhumane way that turkeys are bred and raised on the farm. Overfed and crowded, they are slaughtered after they have achieved the broad-breasted status so desired by the Thanksgiving diners. Makes you want to become a vegan.
Still, the pull of tradition is stronger than any dislike of turkey farming practices, so I will give in to it and prepare the bird for our Thanksgiving dinner. I'll just think about that wild turkey thumbing his nose at me last summer as he took his own sweet time getting out of the way on the second hole of the course. Who ended up with the birdie now, yoou ugly little fowl?