Wednesday, November 3, 2010


It's ironic. My Dad spent something like seven years, in a blind, in the cold, in the wee hours of the morning, in the woods, calling, sitting and waiting for a turkey to come close enough for him to kill it with his bow.

Had he been at my house, in my living room, in the middle of a random day, he could have taken the shot.

These two turkeys roamed Roseville for a better part of last fall, which is when the photo above was taken. I also happened to spot them at my place of employment, right outside my window in fact. Not a big deal except my office was on the second floor and my window overlooked the roof. It was pretty hysterical to see a random turkey just waddling by as if on it's way to the supermarket or something. I half expected it to wave or tip it's hat or even say, "How do you do?"

I thought I'd seen the last of these turkeys last year but not to worry! I spotted them just last week on my way home, cruising down Larpenteur. Except now, now there are three. It's like they know Thanksgiving is around the corner. They're either playing a dangerous dare on passerbys or merely reminding people that even though we live in a metropolis surrounded by concrete and metal, nature exists and it too simply likes to explore.

As I saw them I had the split inclination to phone Dad. I quickly came back to reality, swiftly grew sad and then just as promptly rebounded deciding it was instead a sign that Dad was watching. In fact, he was probably dawned in camo, taking aim with his bow.

1 comment:

  1. The turkey's on earth can breathe a deep sigh of relief. But those poor bastards up in heaven "that fell victim every thanksgiving" better look out cause Mark Miller is up there decked out in his "dirt" scent and camo strategically awaiting the perfect calculated shot.



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