So I'm driving down Energy Park Drive on my way home from work on Monday night, when I happen to glance off to the right and see this large--this very large--waddling black thing. It has some sort of fan, or crest, or something, and it reminds me of those Thanksgiving turkeys that we used to draw when we were in kindergarten. You know, where you place your palm flat on the paper and draw around your fingers, and each finger becomes a feather.
It looked just like that.
The large black waddling thing was in the parking lot of a computer company, and it seemed to be moving. I cruised past, and then I said to myself, "Hey! I'm thinking that was a turkey."
And I turn around and drive into the serpentine parking lot, and I see that, damn, it is a turkey. It's definitely a tom, with a sky-blue wattle (or whatever it's called), and his feathers are, you know, erect, and he's strutting back and forth in front of the door. He wants in. I guess 37 degrees in late April has him a little annoyed, too.
Now, I realize that this is Three Dog Blog, and not Three Bird Blog. And I also realize that I have quite recently blogged about bald eagles, and loons, and oh yeah other turkeys, as well as grebes. I realize I have not given Boscoe and Riley their due lately. But man, I couldn't spot a wild turkey on my way home from work on a bleak and fairly typical Monday and not share it with you, could I? Especially when I happen to have my handy little camera with me.
So I stop in the middle of the parking lot, rummage around in my purse, pull out the camera and prepare to cruise casually up to the turkey and photograph it, when--a cop pulls in behind me.
My tired brain goes into paranoid overdrive.
Is he going to arrest me? That's always the first thing I think whenever I see a cop anywhere, in any situation. I don't know why, because I've never been arrested. But it's always my first thought: Is he going to arrest me?
I wonder if it's illegal for me to drive onto private property for no authorized reason, but only because I want to photograph a turkey. I look at the cop. He's just sitting there in his car. (I realize later that he's a speed trap and doesn't care anything about me.)
The turkey continues to strut, back and forth, back and forth, past the front door of the computer company. He is practically begging me to photograph him. Lindsey Lohan does this all the time.
But I'm rattled. People are trying to get out of the parking lot, and I am in their way. I imagine them thinking, with great irritation, Great. Another tourist taking pictures of the Goddamn turkey, clogging the driving lane when I want to go home!
It's quite possible that they weren't thinking anything of the kind. But I'm very aware that I'm in the way, and that a cop is lurking 20 feet behind me, and that I need a turkey picture for you, my Three Dog Bloggettes, to admire.
So I hastily stop in front of the turkey and start clicking away. I take eight pictures. When I get home, I find that four of them are blurry. The four that aren't blurry are of the turkey's butt.
I'm hoping to be in a calmer, less imaginative state when I drive past again tomorrow, and if the turkey is there and the coast is clear, I will get another picture. Of its face.
And I will share it with all of you. Nothing is too much trouble for my Bloggettes.
Jack and Murds: Adventurers
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