A MOVEABLE FEAST

It's the day after Christmas and the sky is dark, a sure portent of snow to come. Thanks to not being able to sleep much last night, my mother is hibernating on the family room couch while I watch a marathon of MAD TV episodes and gaze out the huge sliding window/door onto the backyard. The back yard of this house has always been a bit of an unintentional nature preserve, what with its recurring parade of deer, woodchucks, pheasants, hummingbirds, racoons, opossums, coyotes, snakes and you name it, but just now I have witnessed an unprecedented display of wildlife on the march.

In recent years there has been an upsurge in the local turkey population, and when I say turkey I'm talking about the big-ass gobblers usually found residing on one's table amongst cranberry sauce, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy on Thanksgiving day, and they are so stupid that they have little or no fear of man whatsoever. I have even seen one of my neighbors standing in his driveway with a huge sack of birdseed, doling out a free meal to a small flock of the gloriously ugly bastards, but while that was pretty impressive it doesn't come close to what just trudged through my field of vision.

I saw what I first thought was just a couple of Butterball refugees pecking about in search of eats, but when I got up and went to the window to check them out I saw a fucking HUGE army of feathered interlopers making their way out of the brush. I took a head count and came up with a tally of nineteen, when one last straggler hopped out and looked around in total confusion, bringing the final count to twenty. TWENTY FUCKING TURKEYS marching through the Valley of Buncheness.

I stayed glued to the window as their poultry procession promenaded toward the main road and was both amused and awed at the jerky yet graceful chorus line of butt-ugly birds who strutted about as if to say "Good thing it's the day after Christmas and your fat asses are too bloated from yuletide feasting to even think about getting up to give chase, kill us and fill our asses with seasoned bread crumbs, so go fuck yourselves!" Presently they were gone, off in search of sustenance amid the first light dusting of Connecticut snow (NOTE: not the kind of snow usually found up the nasal cavities of the affluent fuckheads who comprise most of my hometown's population).

Ah, nature...