Rollin', Rollin', Rollin',
Rollin', Rollin', Rollin', Keep those doggies movin'. 2023 just keeps rolling. Our family lost another member this past week. Wilbur, Elaine's pet turkey was found dead in the coop this past week. After an extensive investigation, it was determined, yep, he's dead.
As I have mentioned, Wilbur was Elaine's pet. I don't think any neighbor actually saw Elaine hugging that turkey, (Thank God) but I'm here to tell you she did hug him, often. Me? I wouldn't say I liked touching that over-stuffed Thanksgiving dinner. It wasn't that I didn't like him, but we can get to that in a moment.
Everyone (but maybe me) loved Wilbur. The Red-Ex delivery guy (actually I think he was purple) marveled at Wilbur every time he delivered a package (which incidentally is quite often because my family cannot stop buying useless crap manufactured in China, Pakistan, Vietnam, Sri Lanka, Nebraska, and South Dakota.) Oh, sorry! That delivery dude remarked every time, "Man, that is a big turkey. I didn't know turkeys got that big. (Construction language), that's a big turkey!" He might not have used construction language) but come on, he was thinking it.
I would have felt better about Wilbur if he had been an attack turkey. He was more of an alert, watch turkey. He would gobble, gobble at any car that should drive up, any loud noise, he would gobble when the fox was eating his friends, nearby. He stood by to watch the fox kill his fellow turkeys and a few chickens, knowing fox was not after him. It would have been when a lion attacks an elephant. That's a big turkey.
You know when you are shopping at the store for your holiday turkey. You look into the case and might find a tom turkey dressed out at twenty pounds or so, I'm betting Wilbur weighed seventy pounds. I'm not into fat shaming, I've got problems myself, but come on, Wilbur couldn't run from any kind of predator. He just looked at the fox with that head, that ugly blue head, And that red hangy-down thing hanging from his nose.
If I was in charge of Wilbur's and my destiny, Wilbur would have been on someone's holiday table two years ago. But Elaine needed something to hug and I guess I wasn't available.
Do you want to know the worst part? Wilbur couldn't/wouldn't die in the summer when the ground is soft and digging is easy. No, he had to die in the winter when the ground is frozen solid. Yes, you're right, I hate Wilbur today.
2023 keeps rollin' along. I've decided to sell more yarn. It keeps me from thinking about the frozen ground. I'm going to need your help with that. Feel free to buy yarn. It's cold and you need new hand-knit mittens. I wouldn't wear them, but you would
God Bless you, 2023 will get better, buy yarn. Support Ukraine.
Our crazy lives!