Meleagris gallopavo

Lately I've been feeling like the anti-Snow White. I'll tell you why: there are three dogs and seven cats here, and they follow me everywhere I go. Well, only two of the cats follow me. Oh, did I mention that two of the dogs are puppies? You see, birds and bunnies and deer and probably even porcupines just LOVED Snow White. She would sing, la la la, and they'd sing too. But when I ramble through the woods pursued by an army of house pets, the forest empties. The only birdcalls I've heard in a while are alarm calls. The cool clean river is clouded and muddied by the pitter-patter of fuzzy feet.

Now, we all know that it is un-American, and downright nasty, not to enjoy the company of puppies. They are playful, rambunctious, cute, etc. If you don't like puppies you are BAD. And not in the Michael Jackson sense. Well, I DO like puppies, but I also like looking at other creatures, specifically those that are secretive and sneaky, and I can think of very few such beasties that don't run willy nilly from puppies. (Does anyone think these critters are lacking in warmth for resisting the charms of puppies?!?)

Anyway, I digress. Yesterday, my entourage startled a flock of wild turkeys. There they were, fourteen turkeys, lined up at a particularly narrow and straight section of the river. The birds galloped down the hill and then launched themselves, wing tip to wing tip, all in a line, across the five or so meters of water to the other bank of the river. I froze, was breathless, how beautiful, how lovely. But these were turkeys, and before I could blink they crashed head over feet into a rhododendron thicket on the opposite shore and once again became goofy, clumsy, hilarious turkeys.

Perhaps I wouldn't have had this moment without the pet brigade. Perhaps I should be grateful. Okay, I'm grateful. But I've also taken to elaborately sneaking off through the woods behind my cabin so as not to be pursued by the pets of my neighbors. Shhh, don't tell.