Talkin' turkey!

"Turkeys are hard to raise," one person told me.

"They are so stupid they will turn their heads straight up into the rain and drown themselves," another said.

I've heard these and other derogatory remarks about how hard turkeys are to raise and how stupid the birds are, so I was a bit hesitant about raising turkeys.

When we moved onto the ranch in 1975, I decided, in spite of the warnings, that I wanted to raise our own holiday turkeys. When I bought my baby chicks, I added three turkey poults, and put them together in my brood box.

When the weather warmed I put them all out in the back yard in a small pen with a box, lamp, feed and water. Chicks and poults took off, growing like the proverbial weeds. They soon had the run of the whole yard.

One evening a poult was missing. I hunted, but couldn't find it. Next morning,while working in the kitchen, I heard an unhappy "Yeep, yeep" right under my feet. I peeked through a small hole under the house and there was my baby. I called it and that little turkey came right out to me.

When they were the size of a banty chicken, the little toms started strutting and following me around talking to me. They were like pets while the silly chickens fled.

One little hen wasn't growing well so we pampered her, feeding her grasshoppers. We called her Twerpy and she would come running when we called her name. My late husband, George, would tuck her under his arm and take her to the hayfield while he worked. She followed him around, having a wonderful time catching and eating grasshoppers. And she grew.

The turkey poults grew into big husky birds and made wonderfully tasty dinners. They also provided us with entertainment as well with their antics. They once saw a snake in the back yard and yelled at it as they craned their necks, pecked at it and threatened to stomp it. Another time the toms found our grandson's ball in the back yard.

They appeared to have a glorious game of kickball with it. First, one would attack and kick it. Then another kicked it. Their wings dragging, their tails spread, their head and wattles a belligerent blue, white and red, they went after that ball with a vengeance. We finally decided it was the red, white and blue of the ball that they were battling, not merely batting at it.

And we were the ones enjoying the game