.jpg)
Our neighbors.
They stop in at least once a day for a snack. I don't mind their visiting, since they pretty much serve themselves.
The sentry. He's the one they park at the door to the banquet room, just in case anyone tries to eat the diners while they're chowing down.
Interesting lifestyle, huh? Sort of mobster-ish, don't you think?
On Christmas Eve eleven turkeys showed up at our bird feeder. They look like little old men, bobbing and weaving, clucking and wobbling as they walk. I am mesmerized by the twice-daily dance they do near our house.
It is comical to watch them, especially when they argue over who is to be the "sentry" while they feast. Invariably one is singled out to stand on the knoll and watch. For what, I'm not sure. Predators, I imagine.
Personally I'd like to see a wild beast come snarling over the hill, intent on chasing the feathered feeders. I wouldn't want to see the beast kill one of the turkeys. I've gotten pretty attached to them. Well, maybe not attached, exactly. Intrigued is more like it. And that's the draw of a snarling beast chasing them from their cozy spot. I'd like to see what they'd do, how they'd react. Like to see their feathers ruffled. My husband says turkeys can fly pretty fast when they've got to. I'd like to see that, see them flap those big wings and lift off the ground.
I'm hoping to get a "good" picture of the turkey mob. One where they're all looking my way and saying "cheese." Smiling, maybe. If I do, I'll post it here.
