There are days when our little corner of the world starts to feel like the Island of Misfit Toys…except, instead of toys, we have creatures, and they don’t really seem in a hurry to leave.
Still, just from where I sit in our sunroom, I see a one-time alley cat who hates outside, a one-time barn cat who was literally too dumb to survive in the barn, and a German Shepherd with hip dysplasia and allergies to pretty much everything (like me!). Out in the pastures, I have two mini-ponies rescued from New Holland, an off the track thoroughbred who wasn’t nearly fast enough, and more rescued llamas than you can shake a stick at… And, in my basement…Turkeys.
Our latest misfits are Turkeys. I am now officially sharing my home with large poultry (but only until they’re big enough to go outside).
My husband brought them home…
You see, my husband…
Well, some of you are familiar with him…
Erm…I mean complex.
On the one hand, he’s a former professional firefighter, former cop, trained farrier, trained sniper who has been in more intense situations than anyone else I’ve ever met. (Jeremiah once called me to let me know that he had gotten in a fistfight with a professional boxer who had been beating on his girlfriend…SWAT ended up being called in that day.) On the other hand, he’s a total goofball and one of the most compassionate people I’ve ever known. (Such aspects of his personality are lesser known; this post is totally going to mess with his image…)
A few weeks ago, while I was at the office, he was charged with running to the feed store to pick up some of the farm necessities that we always seem to be running out of. While he was there, he wandered over to the chicks. All they had were turkeys, and three of them were separated out from the rest. Apparently, those three were picked on by the other, bigger turkeys, necessitating their move.
As he was speaking with the clerk, a big guy in camo wandered by. Upon hearing that the little ones in front of him got picked on, he interjected.
“Oh, that’s easy. If they get picked on you just kill ’em younger. Makes good eatin.”
And that’s when my firefighter, cop, sniper, farrier husband who forges his own swords said, “Nope. They’re mine. I’ll take them.”
Moments later, he posted this photo to Facebook
I’m not sure what we’re going to do with our turkey friends once they get bigger, but I do know they won’t end up on our dinner plates. This trio is safe.
For now, they’re living it up in the basement…
Shakin’ their tail feathers…
And discovering the joy of mealworms. These guys think Jeremiah is pretty great; they follow him around with enthusiasm when given the chance.
And really, when you have 50+ animals, what’s three more misfits???
P.S. – Welcome to all of you recent subscribers. I’m so glad to have you here!