#TOMTOM the turkey

Searching for TomTom, the turkey has created quite a stir out here in my Forest. Everyone has been on a hunting expatiation for weeks now. All talk and no action until a few days ago.

The men folk are on the roam in search of the biggest fattest Tom Turkey they can find for the big Thanksgiving Feast tomorrow. They feel a real pride this time of year returning to their hunter-gatherer status. Actually it’s bragging rights their after but I’m not saying a word and spill the beans on my plans.

While the men folk have been ratchet jawing, I’ve been wandering among the whispering pines carrying a pouch full of bread crumbs. The clutch I found has one huge Tom turkey and six precious ladies at his disposal. TomTom knew all about hunting season for Tom turkey this time of year.

“They nearly got my ass yesterday”, he told me.

“Well TomTom I’ve come with a plan if you’ll be a trustin’ me, I tell him. You see TomTom I’ve got a hen house with a homicidal Rooster named #Bailey. He brutalizes his hens not to mention he ran my Buckie off. The hens hate him. TomTom he’s a big sucker too, you, and I both know these men folk around here can’t tell the difference between a bear and a black angus cow but they do get lucky shooting at anything that moves. Soooooooo I tell you what TomTom you talk it over with your lady friends and if everyone agrees follow the bread crumbs. I’ll let #Bailey free to roam the forest. He loves that you know. While he’s gone you can slip yourself and your ladies into the hen house and I’ll lock the door. How’s that sound TomTom? You think on it while I spread the bread crumbs.”

Around noon here comes TomTom headed for the hen house. Rushing out I ask him, “TomTom where are your ladies?”

“That bastard #Bailey took every one of them deep into the forest. Those so-called ladies are nothing but a bunch of ungrateful little cheaters the lot of em’ and me always on guard offering up my life to protect em’, why I ask you why? Good grief I may as well have gone looking for one of those bad shot turkey hunters.”

I locked the door to the hen house as he continues his litany of the horrors of having to do everything but lay turkey eggs for propagation.

The men folk come home for dinner all dismayed. Chuck suggests they eat, get a good night’s sleep and hit the grocery early Thanksgiving morning. “We can get that deep fryer out I got for Christmas last year and fire it up, drop that frozen baby in there and Ma you won’t have to work so hard basting a turkey this year.”

“Good grief, you’ll set the forest on fire, just leave it to me, I’ve everything under control Chuck”, I tell him. Tomorrow there will be a huge stuffed turkey at the head of the table, PaPa with knife in hand to begin the carving.

TomTom’s won’t be depressed anymore, the forest won’t burn down and the deep fryer will remain in the box in the garage where the thing belongs.

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