F60

Turkeys....

March 15 2007

Turkeys are funny critters. The gobblers get around with all the pomp and ceremony of a High Court judge, until something upsets them, and then they turn into small-time thugs. My grandfather used to keep turkeys in his backyard, and they always fascinated me. Their sheer size was enough to impress a small child, and I guess Grandfather knew I liked them, as he would always take me into their pen at feeding time, but he was never too far away, just in case. Lindsay had been working for a bloke and instead of money, they were using the age-old barter system, labour in exchange for produce. That was fine with us, so when the time came, and the job was done, off we went to claim the bits and pieces we needed for the farm. Into the trailer went bales of lucerne, bags of chook feed, a much-needed steel post puller outer and one turkey poult. Now I’d heard all these stories about “You’re not supposed to keep chickens and poults together” etc etc. However, I’d never listened to conventional advice and I wasn’t about to start then, so in with the twenty or so chickens went the young fella. It took a day or two for the turkey to settle into his new home, but after that, everything went just fine. The poult had found himself a mate, a little red chick, and they were inseparable. They ate together, slept together, scratched in my vege garden together and were very content. It didn’t take long for me to notice the pair of them, and so they were named. “Roast” for the turkey, and “Dinner” for the chicken. “How could you?” was the cry from the city visitors, but considering that the plate was where Dinner would probably end up, I thought the names were quite appropriate. Roast and Dinner continued their friendship through the months and it was a lovely sight to behold. They were both young and fancy free, both young roosters together. Well of course Roast thought he was a chook, they had surrounded him since he was a week old, what else would he have thought? However, when they both reached around seven months of age, things began to change. Roast started to grow stiff black hairs out of his chest, much like a teenage boy. And with his new status as a hormone- ridden teenager, came a few changes to the relationship with his bosom buddy. Both the young fellas were becoming interested in the ladies and competition was becoming a tad heated. When Dinner would sneak away and start chatting up the nearest hen, Roast, when he noticed, would hustle over, all indignant, and have an argument with his brother. At times, the argument would get rather violent and feathers would fly. Or it would be the other way round, Roast having a bit of a tête-à-tête with one of the lovelier young pullets and Dinner would come over, all bluff and bluster. At this time of his life, as befits young males; Roast was also experimenting with sex aids. How often did I walk downstairs to find Roast passionately trying to balance himself on top of my sons’ football. “Aye Jimmy, she’d a grand shape to ‘er, but a wee bit slippery to get a grip on!” Round rocks also were items of interest. What the attraction there was, only Roast and God will ever know. One must mention at this time how very sorry I felt for the poor hens that were in the middle of this battle of testosterone. On my way to the toilet one day, I found one of the black hens, thrown to the ground on her side, with one wing forced up over her head, being ravaged by Roast. He took no notice of me, so concentrated on his task was he, until I spoke his name and by doing so attracted the attention of Dinner. Well! Dinner came literally roaring across the backyard, wings flapping, wattles flying and gently (in a gentlemanly manner of course), persuaded Roast to desist in his rape of the young hen. Feathers flew, harsh words were spoken, and in the middle of the mêlée, the black hen made good her escape into the toilet. I think that whatever had been said, (I am not especially conversant in either Turkish or Chook), could never be taken back, and as from that moment on, Dinner and Roast were no longer friends. After that little drama, when things had cooled down and the boys had gone their separate ways, with help from myself and a stick, I continued into the toilet, lifted the lid (which always clattered when it hit the ventilation pipe) sat down, and literally had the proverbial scared out of me by the poor traumatised black hen. She had taken refuge behind the pan of the toilet after her ordeal, and I had just stretched her nerves to breaking point by making a lot of noise. Poor thing, she probably spent the next week, hiding in the darkest corner of the chook house, existing on a steady diet of fine malt whiskey and handfuls of Valium! So by now I guess you would have the general idea of what the farmyard was like. Running battles between Roast and Dinner were commonplace, mostly with the outcome being a standoff as I was never far away with the stick. Let’s face it, Roast outweighed Dinner by a good three kilos and was twice his size. Serious damage can be done by a red-faced turkey with his dander up. I know from experience. Roast’s favourite game with we people was “Sneak and Scare”. The rules were: People (generally me) going about the daily routine of feeding, grooming and training cattle, cleaning pens, gardening etc and Roast would sneak up behind whomever and fly at them, wings flapping and feet (and claws) extended for a nice rake from about the waist down. He was very good at this game, and it was only with the help of shadows (if you were lucky) or excellent hearing, that you were able to avoid a seriously painful scratch. For most of the time, the damn turkey would always get me a beauty, and for a long time I was decorated with long red scratches down the backs of my legs. That was until the Day of the Bucket… The buckets I used for feeding the cattle their grain rations were good old-fashioned galvanised tin, probably left over from my Great-Uncle’s stud. They were heavy based and solid, and on this day, a superb defensive weapon. Now I can hear the bleeding hearts starting to mutter, but if they had put up with a feathered maniac trying to disembowel them from the back, on a daily basis, I think they’d be looking for something a little more substantial than a bucket. M60 machine gun comes to mind… Anyway, there I was, on my way to the feed shed; bucket in hand, when I heard it. The stealthy rustle of grass a couple of feet behind. Sure enough, Roast in his daily stalk. I must have timed it beautifully, because as Roast was launching himself and had gotten to a good height, I swung the bucket. There was an almighty clang, and Roast went down in a puff of feathers! I don’t know who was more surprised; me because I’d actually connected with his head, or him, because when he’d last looked, there weren’t any planes falling out of the sky. I was totally helpless; laughter just pealing out of me, and my knees were getting so weak I was having difficulty standing. It was bloody funny! When he was capable and after a minute of looking around cross-eyed, Roast got up, shook his head a few times and staggered off towards the chook pen… sideways! He looked like some bloke who’d been on a bender for a week and couldn’t walk a straight line! No side effects ever showed up from Roast’s run in with the bucket, however he had a healthy respect for me from then on… especially if I was carrying the bucket. Death comes to us all, and Dinner had always been on borrowed time. He was either going to end up on our dinner plates or as fresh meat for the dogs. He was, after all, just a mongrel bred Australorp cross chook, nothing special in the way of breeding stock. His days became numbered when one day my Dad showed up with a beautiful young Light Sussex cockerel. Obviously there was no way that Dinner could measure up, and so he was put on Death Row. I said to Lindsay that, depending on who needed tucker first, the dogs or us, would determine just who got to eat Dinner. He agreed, and the dogs won. The day came and there was that atmosphere hanging around the chook yard that made all the poultry uneasy. They know, chooks do. It must be some sort of race memory or something, because they all tread warily, one eye always on you. I suppose the sharpening of the axe has nothing at all to do with it, or the dogs sniffing around the chopping block in eager anticipation. Anyway, the time came, and I went down to the chook pen to catch Dinner. I did, and as usual, the noise and kafuffle brought Roast hurtling over, checking to see what was going on. Much to his delight, he found Dinner hanging upside down from my hand, and therefore an easy target. The bugger flew at poor Dinner, and tried to give him what for while he was defenceless and I was occupied. After fighting him off, Dinner and I got to the chopping block. Me huffing from trying to defend myself, and poor Dinner, well he was just totally stressed out. Not because he was soon to depart this life, but more because he couldn’t at least try and maintain his rooster hood and fight back. I handed Dinner over to Lindsay who laid him gently on the block, and then stepped back, away from possible injury from flying axe heads or splatters of chook blood. Just as Lindsay was in the process of raising the axe, I noticed Roast getting ready to launch. “Watch Roast” I warned Linds, “He’s getting ready to jump on you” Lindsay turned and saw where the turkey was, then moved to the left, turning Dinner on the block. The turkey followed, so Linds moved again, to the left, in a circular motion around the block, again turning Dinner. This was repeated over and over, Lindsay moving, Dinner rotating and Roast following, until Lindsay had completed four complete circles. Meanwhile, I was standing there, feeling sorry for poor Dinner, and wishing they’d stop playing silly buggers and just get on with it. I think Dinner felt the same way, as his eyes were starting to roll, probably getting dizzy and nauseous from going round and round. Finally though, the axe fell and so did Dinner’s head. Lindsay let go of Dinner, and Dinner took off. (To those people who’ve never seen a chook with their head cut off, they tend to go a bit psycho, like a break-dancer on speed. At times they will make gurgly squawks, which I find amusing) Well, to Roast, this whole thing had been pretty exciting, but this was definitely the bit that tipped him over the edge! There was his former brother/friend and now rival, flapping around and it all just got to him. His fighting spirit was ignited, and he attacked! He flew at Dinner, wings outstretched, and claws extended. First he just stomped on Dinner’s now still body and then he started using his wings in a downward slicing motion to cause still more trauma. It was a truly vicious beating and all I can say is, thank Heaven Dinner was already dead. But it didn’t end there… After Roast calmed down, I went to retrieve Dinner, but Roast was having none of it! I ended up having to chase him away with a stick because he wasn’t leaving his kill! He gave ground eventually, and I picked up the rooster by his legs and started walking across the yard to where the compost heap was. Note to gardeners: feathers are good for your compost; they add nitrogen. However, Roast wasn’t letting me get away that easily, and he came for me, the same way he did in the bucket incident. I heard one of the boys shout a warning, and I turned just as Roast was launching, and hit him again in the head, but this time with a dead chook! He went down, and so did the body, which landed just beside him. Now I have seen some funny things in my time, I have seen both animals and people do very odd things, but I swear, as I live and breathe, Roast recovered himself, took a rapid look at the carcass lying there, and started to rape it! What do you do? Lindsay just cracked up, the boys were astounded (and a bit embarrassed), and I was amazed. Totally gob smacked. It was about then I decided that Roast had issues he hadn’t dealt with, and maybe I should consider hiring a councillor. He was so absolutely absorbed with what he was doing, (no matter how wrong it looked); he didn’t even notice me approaching with the stick again. On our farm there isn’t a whole lot of dignity in death, but this was bloody ridiculous. I removed Roast with a maximum of effort on my part and with help from the ever-present stick, picked up Dinner’s poor ravaged body and continued on to the compost heap. (Might I take this opportunity to say that my family of big strong Australian males were helpless with laughter, and totally grossed out at the same time…. and they were absolutely no help whatsoever!) Reaching the compost heap, I started to pluck the feathers off the carcass, and all was going well until I got to the vent. (That is the polite way of describing the chooks bum, for those not in the know) Grabbing a good handful of feathers, I pulled them out and flicked them off my hand. Grab flick, grab flick, grab flick, flick, FLICK. Flick flick I went, but the feathers stayed there. Flick flick flick. Nothing. The feathers were stuck. How were they stuck? I hear you ask. With turkey semen of course! Oh… My… God! Unfortunately there are no words to convey the wash of illness that overcame me. I can’t begin to describe how GROSS it felt. Ah yuck! Bloody stupid over-sexed, over-excited sodding turkey. I turned around to look at Lindsay, and if I thought he was helpless before, now he was totally useless! The bloody kids were no better; they were in danger of falling down the steps and breaking their necks. Serves them right if they had too! Nature (and the damn turkey) got me a beauty that day. Turkey semen is like superglue and it dries quickly. I would guess I went through two bars of soap and forty layers of skin before I got the stuff off me. One point to Mother Nature, four witnesses and a tight feeling in the palm of my right hand every time I think of it!

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RHP User

19 years ago

Just rounding up the turkeys again....

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RHP User

19 years ago

Viking i havent had a good laugh like that in a long long time - tears streaming down my face !!!! U know why!!! we have one of these bastards hahahahahaa we have had him since he was a tiny chick - his name is Gary and he is every bit and more like ur rooster lol - i must go buy myself a bucket!!!!! hahahahhahaa Cheers Tina and roy

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RHP User

19 years ago

sorry - Roaster- lol

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RHP User

19 years ago

they were the best times of my life tunneling in and out of the hay shed chasing the cows at 4.30 in the morn standing in cow shit to keep the feet warm,going with dad to the cattle yards the smell of horse shit is still lingers in my nose, racing trains whilst on horse back gettin your dumb arse cousions to hold the electric fence hehe oh and of corse the monthly poultry slaughter yes the barter system remember it well we never had a reason to go to the shops unless the old man ran out of piss lol. then it all ended my very happy carefree childhood finished with devorce then town i came but you can take the girl out the country but you cant take the country out of the girl i was the only kid in my school with a pet chook and rooster puddles and cluck a pair of polish crested poultry trained like dogs would make a hell of a racket as i left for school in the mornings i wonder wot ever happened to them i went away for a long weekend and they must have followed mum said strange how we had chicken for the next week??hhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm till this day i keep a lil of the country in our house ive a pet pig i walk her daily through usher well train and better manners than half the people i know oh take me back to the country any day thank you Viking you have brought back some very cherished memories xxx

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RHP User

19 years ago

Hey Tina I didnt know that we had so much in common. I am just such a fantastic gobbler and you have just straightened my kink again gobble gobble gobble !!!!!!

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RHP User

19 years ago

VB if you don’t put a book together you have got rocks in yer head! This is GOLD GF. I loved it!!!!!!!!!!

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RHP User

17 years ago

I've just been reading over old forum posts, both by myself and my friends, what funny buggers we all used to be! Now however, Muriel, Mike and Spart have all left RHP and quite frankly, I miss their amusing and sometimes testostone laden posts. What a shame a lot of you don't go back into the past, there is some excellent posts that people have written. Must find my sense of humour again, I know I left it around here somewhere. Viking

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RHP User

17 years ago

Was a hilarious read from the past. I guess it's why I started reading the forums.. Good point V.B, the new ppl need a break to open up. xx SnS

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RHP User

17 years ago

VB, I recon the term LMAO is overused, but certainly not in this case. Edxx PS still laughing

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RHP User

17 years ago

Our weapon of choice for the gobbler was a length of poly pipe that was carried by any woman (he didn't like men) brave enough to venture out into the farmyard when he was on the prowl. He loved redheads in particular so I was in mortal danger and used to employ seriously subversive tactics to avoid him. Unfortunately, eggs needed collecting and turkey chicks needed constant rescuing from the water bowl where they liked to bury their (collective) heads in a lemming like group suicide mission, so sneaking around in farm camouflage didn't always work. Like the above mentioned bird, he would launch himself with great enthusiasm just as you thought you were safe. He didn't get the message after months of beatings with the poly pipe so we eventually resorted to a more permanent solution provided by a shotgun....... The joys of farm life! Still can't eat turkey with great relish though.....

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RHP User

17 years ago

VB I have to agree with The_Camera_Man.... Write a book...... Im still aughing & trying to explain your story to my daughter on the phone...... Gasp...Gag....Ha Ha Ha..... Geez I nearly piddled my pants (or did I) Keep it up.... dazichane

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RHP User

17 years ago

My grandfather told me the story of how seeing the turkey in the vegie garden my greatgrand mother decided to chase it out with a stock whip. The result was one crack of the whip, one headless turkey , one turkey dinner!

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RHP User

17 years ago

Oh wow lol, how awesome is your Great Grannie!!!! Would have loved to have known her. What a shot! lol Viking

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RHP User

17 years ago

AND you ve got your horned helmet on again i see ! ( pinches cheek ) " gitchy ,,gitchy,," !!!,,. brrrrrr,,. "oo " ,,."excuse me". Last time i seen you , you were passed out in the park , flat on your back , with a stray dog chewing on your left thong , while her litter of puppies took refuse under your dress , while two impish boys sporting corn flakes box`s , laden with cap guns ,taking cover behind you whilst returning fire at their combatants across the clearing behind the tree !!! ...may i add ,,.? the thunderous sound of passing wind , was appreciated by the youngsters , for its effect in a real life war theme !!! I was growing concerned for your old shopping trolley , and your collection of valued tins and bottles though , needless to say the pending rains awoken you ,, and here you safely BE !!! HUH!!! Brilliant write,,YOU be a funny fukka "HEY" !!! "BUT" have you inadvertently given an insight to a formative period to a mind that quite possibly has a value , if sold to science ??? ~~~Horrible~~~ * " OH BTW" ,, What is to become of us wild turkey drinkers ?? are we to be tormented by the image of you with turkey jam on your hand every time time we go to the fukkin bar ??

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RHP User

17 years ago

the best thing i have read so far.. was feeling down...read your post...and dear me.. am smiling and laughing here.. thank u

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RHP User

17 years ago

THAT'S the reason I write, to take someone away from themselves for a few minutes and hopefully help them feel better. That's the biggest compliment anyone could pay me. Viking x

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Frankiesgame

17 years ago

great story, nearly pissed myself laughing!!!

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RHP User

17 years ago

VB You truly have a talent with words and this particular post had me just about falling off my chair. I had the bloody awful weather blues when I read it and yes, I laughed so hard I ached and all I had to do for the rest of the afternoon was think of it and I was laughing again. Thank you for sharing your talent and brightening my day. Cheers Wilds

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