THE TURKEY WHO STAYED FOR THANKSGIVING DINNER

Every Thanksgiving is a peaceful occasion at my house, but I can't help but laugh when I think back to Thanksgiving 1955. I was ten and it was the year Gobbler became part of my family.

When my pop returned from the war he couldn't find a job. My grandparents owned a farm, so our family moved to Milligan Ridge in Mississippi County Arkansas. Milligan Ridge was a small farming community and my granddaddy raised turkeys.

My mom and older sister weren't too keen on moving to the country, but I couldn't wait! We had lived in the city most of my life and I was ready for a change. The farm was my escape from the bullies that polluted my life. Little did I know my life would take a complete 180 degree turn.

My granddaddy put me in charge of feeding the turkeys. I didn't really mind. The poop smelled awful, but I got paid a nickel. I looked forward to turkey feeding time. I would go into town and buy penny candy. My favorite was Atomic Fireballs.

A few days before Thanksgiving my granddaddy called me into the barn.

“Billy Boy.” He spit snuff onto the hay covered ground.

I hated snuff! It stunk worse than the turkey poop.

“Yes granddaddy.”

“I have a special job for you. I'll pay you two bits.”

Wow! Two bits. I could buy a lot of Atomic Fireballs!

“I want you to go to the turkey pen, pick out the biggest Tom and get him ready for Thanksgiving Dinner.”

I gulped. He wanted me to kill a turkey. I sure wanted two bits, so greed outweighed the thought of killing a turkey for Thanksgiving. I had watched my pop and granddaddy kill turkeys before. It was a piece of cake, catch the biggest Tom, chop his head off...

I won't go into details, but killing a turkey wasn't a pretty sight.

T-day finally arrived. I woke up at the crack of dawn and got dressed. I proceeded to the turkey pen before the rooster crowed. I unlatched the gate, walked into the middle of twenty turkeys and tried to grab the biggest Tom turkey. I fell flat on my face. I swear I heard the turkeys laughing. Gobble, gobble sounded like ha ha.

I corralled the fat Tom turkey, grabbed his legs and wrapped twine around them. Gobble, gobble. I was proud of my accomplishment. I earned my twenty-five cents that morning. I took my prisoner to the chopping block, placed him on the log and had my ax ready for the deed. Gobble gobble.

I stopped in mid-air. He looked at me, I looked at him. I felt like a traitor. There went my Atomic Fireballs! I unbound his feet and tied the twine around his neck.

“Come on Gobbler. You're going to Thanksgiving dinner.”

Gobble gobble.

That Thanksgiving my grandma cooked a ham with all the trimmings. I wonder where the pig went?