It's day 3 of the Lone Turkey Marathon. At dinnertime a wild turkey has been wandering through our yard to munch fallen birdseed before moving on. It takes me back to a day when I was young, 7ish. Driving along in my mom's beat-up red Corolla, my brother and I spotted a flock of wild turkeys in a field of low plants.
Mom pulled over and the three of us set chase. Within moments we discovered that turkeys can run fast, and the field was wildly uneven, full of holes and ditches. After 50 feet or so, I stumbled and slammed my knees into the ground. They hurt but the whole enterprise was too entertaining for me to be upset by skinned knees. The turkeys were out of reach, but it was just as well, we admitted on the walk back to the car, since none of us knew what to do if we caught up to one.
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