Henrietta the turkey is dead!
Posted by: erik scothron on 10 February 2006
Henrietta the turkey dies
Each Christmas by siblings and I use various methods ( threats, guilt trips and the drawing of straws) to determine which one us gets our mother for the season of goodwill. Last Christmas it was common knowledge to all that it was my turn. The only problem was that no one had bothered to tell me. On Christmas eve I dutifully gave my mother her once yearly telephone call and I was surprised to learn that she was on her own for Christmas and nothing in the house to eat. I was certain she was exaggerating and drove over to her place to inspect the over-stuffed kitchen cupboards and refrigerator and was shocked to find that indeed she had nothing to eat. I therefore set out at 6pm on a mission to rectify the situation but a detailed recce of her local shops showed all the turkeys had been sold. I finally learnt that a local farm had been selling turkeys and this was my last hope. This hope was almost dashed when the farmers wife announced she had just sold the last one but she knew that one had escaped into a local wood and if I caught it I could have it free, gratis and for nothing. So off I went with a torch to track the bird down. I patrolled the wood until I eventually had the bird in my sights and there followed an unseemly chase and much diving about in the mud but eventually I had the bird in my grasp. I set about trying to throttle it but it kicked up such a row I chickened out and whacked it on the head instead and having thrown it’s limp body in the back of my car I drove to my mothers triumphantly. My mother soon had the bird well and truly plucked and it was left on the kitchen table to await the oven the following morning.
Christmas day dawned and I was awoken by my mother screaming the house down - now I have been in a few sticky situations in my life and I would like to say I acquitted myself well enough but the site (and sound) of a female in full hysterics usually has me running for the nearest exit and I was hardly out of my bedroom door when my mother flew out of the kitchen screaming like a banshee closely followed by the turkey squawking it‘s lungs out! Well I think you can imagine my horror. Right before eyes was a totally bald turkey shivering with cold and fear and covered in er…goose bumps and looking not a little embarrassed. Apparently it had gained consciousness just as my mum had whacked a handful of stuffing up its bum - well wouldn’t you?
So a good thump with a large stone had only stunned it and my mother and I suddenly filled with compassion for the poor wretch decided we would not eat it but adopt it as a pet. Thus my mother spent all of Christmas day knitting it a jumper!
By the new year Henrietta as we called her had quite a wardrobe of jumpers, scarves, a twin set worn with pearls and a nice pompom hat. She became quite a local celebrity but alas she died in her sleep last night and to tell the truth I am quite upset about it. I would tell you more of how Henrietta enriched our lives but right now I’m busy in the kitchen peeling some potatoes.
Each Christmas by siblings and I use various methods ( threats, guilt trips and the drawing of straws) to determine which one us gets our mother for the season of goodwill. Last Christmas it was common knowledge to all that it was my turn. The only problem was that no one had bothered to tell me. On Christmas eve I dutifully gave my mother her once yearly telephone call and I was surprised to learn that she was on her own for Christmas and nothing in the house to eat. I was certain she was exaggerating and drove over to her place to inspect the over-stuffed kitchen cupboards and refrigerator and was shocked to find that indeed she had nothing to eat. I therefore set out at 6pm on a mission to rectify the situation but a detailed recce of her local shops showed all the turkeys had been sold. I finally learnt that a local farm had been selling turkeys and this was my last hope. This hope was almost dashed when the farmers wife announced she had just sold the last one but she knew that one had escaped into a local wood and if I caught it I could have it free, gratis and for nothing. So off I went with a torch to track the bird down. I patrolled the wood until I eventually had the bird in my sights and there followed an unseemly chase and much diving about in the mud but eventually I had the bird in my grasp. I set about trying to throttle it but it kicked up such a row I chickened out and whacked it on the head instead and having thrown it’s limp body in the back of my car I drove to my mothers triumphantly. My mother soon had the bird well and truly plucked and it was left on the kitchen table to await the oven the following morning.
Christmas day dawned and I was awoken by my mother screaming the house down - now I have been in a few sticky situations in my life and I would like to say I acquitted myself well enough but the site (and sound) of a female in full hysterics usually has me running for the nearest exit and I was hardly out of my bedroom door when my mother flew out of the kitchen screaming like a banshee closely followed by the turkey squawking it‘s lungs out! Well I think you can imagine my horror. Right before eyes was a totally bald turkey shivering with cold and fear and covered in er…goose bumps and looking not a little embarrassed. Apparently it had gained consciousness just as my mum had whacked a handful of stuffing up its bum - well wouldn’t you?
So a good thump with a large stone had only stunned it and my mother and I suddenly filled with compassion for the poor wretch decided we would not eat it but adopt it as a pet. Thus my mother spent all of Christmas day knitting it a jumper!
By the new year Henrietta as we called her had quite a wardrobe of jumpers, scarves, a twin set worn with pearls and a nice pompom hat. She became quite a local celebrity but alas she died in her sleep last night and to tell the truth I am quite upset about it. I would tell you more of how Henrietta enriched our lives but right now I’m busy in the kitchen peeling some potatoes.