Roasted rooster

Keeping his feathers motionless and breathing as quietly as possible, Marvin the turkey hid behind the garden shed. Three years in a row he had avoided the fate due most domestic turkeys.

The life of a turkey is a precarious thing. One minute you’re feasting on grain, the next you’re on sale at Jewel-Oslo. Marvin understood this better than other birds. For this reason he befriended a young farmhand at Apple Holler and meticulously planned a cross-country escape.

The farmhand was unaware, surely, of his new friend’s plan of escape. When you walk in on your turkey friend surveying a rolled out map with a red pen on the floor of the pantry, you give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s the courteous thing to do. He’s just a turkey after all.

But he’s a turkey with a plan so you have to respect that. And to remember his long-standing feud with Cornelius, that huge bastard of a rooster. Sure enough, the red marks in the map led to the circled area that marked Cornelius’ pen. The farmhand noted the gleam in Turkey’s eye

as he clucked his approval. “I see, bird,” said the farmhand, “you think you can just ambush Cornelius? This is a fool’s errand, turkey!” Then he sighed and said “if you really want to get the rooster, I suggest you do this:

Take corn, throw it in the floor near the coop, put a net over it, high enough for Corney not to see it, tight it to a loose rock and stick, he will go eat, then hit the stick and the rock will roll, and the net will fall over him and you will catch him. He did that and Bam!