Pocket Tells the Tale of River and the Golden Turkey Egg

 

My parents are starting to go out more.  I don’t know if it is any safer out there, but regular schedules are being adhered to again.  My Dad even went back to work, although he has to wear a mask more than Johnny Bench. When my parents both go out, they assume River and I wait in the house but somedays my sly sister has other ideas.

    On Saturday, my parents went out, and once their car disappeared around the corner, River freed me from my crate and told me to follow her.  I knew this was a bad idea, having been dragged on many a foolish Foley adventure, but I went along because I am the big sister and obligated.  River said we were going into the woods surrounding our development to find where the turkeys’ nest is, and locate the golden egg, a legend in Brussels Griffon circles going back to their origins.  

    We snuck out the front door, and crossed the road, went through neighboring back yards, and then crept down a path into the woods, where the turkeys nested.  River remarked that the birds would go out hunting soon, and then we would raid the nest and steal the egg.

    The turkeys soon strutted away, and we came out of our hiding spot and walked to the big nest  River began digging in it until her claws hit something solid.  She saw a glint of gold, then announced she had found it.

    The problem was that the golden egg was half-buried in the ground.  River tried to dig it out but got winded because she is a flat-faced breather.  She asked me for help.  I declined because I had just had my nails done.  River snapped at me, so I gave in and dug, just to keep the peace.  It took us fifteen minutes to free the egg.

    River had misjudged the size of the egg.  She thought she would be able to carry it, but that proved to be impossible.  She told me that we would have to roll it home.  I replied that we should leave it for another time because we would certainly get caught if we tried pushing it, but River is bigger and more determined than I am.  She convinced me to help her roll it.  We put our tiny front paws on it, dug our back paws in the ground, and pushed.  

    We had only gone ten feet when we heard a squawk and saw a troop of turkeys headed for us.  I tried to run away, but suddenly I was surrounded by two big birds.   I broke like an edgy mob informant and told them it was all River’s idea.  She tried to explain that she had found the egg, and that meant that it belonged to her.  Then River saw a sight she had believed was long in her past.  An angry pecker.  

    When I was confident that River would be a victim of a big pecker for a second time in her life, our Dad appeared, frantically searching for us before Mommy realized we weren’t home.  He burst into the turkey circle, picked up River, and told me to run.  Luckily, the fowl recognized me as a simple-minded patsy and turned their attention to my Dad, with all the prime meat on his legs. 

Our Dad ran home with the turkeys pecking his legs and ripping off bits of skin.  I was proud of him.  He didn’t fall despite losing all the skin on his legs.   He got home bloody and covered in feathers.  He had to throw out his pants, order the same ones from Amazon, and pluck himself, all while Mommy was washing the COVID off her hands.  

I hoped that the close call squashed River’s lust for gold, but I doubt it.  I should let her battle the flightless bastards on her own, but I am a good sister and will join the struggle with her, no matter how futile the quest.  At least it will be a good story.