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.