I was looking at Thanksgiving, the turkey, this weekend. I felt his drumsticks. Hmmmmm. If he gets any bigger, he will not fit into the oven. He might not fit now.
“Hey!” I told SwampMan. “You better butcher that turkey this weekend. He’s HUGE. He will probably take ALL DAY to cook.” Not to mention that he eats and craps as much in one day as a whole pen full of chickens. Did I mention the price of chicken food? Horrendous!
“What?” asked SwampMan.
I raised my voice just in case he couldn’t hear me. “Are we going to butcher Thanksgiving this weekend?”
“You want me to KILL my turkey?”
“That is what you told me that you got him from the feed store for. We will raise our own turkey dinner, you said!”
“I can’t kill Thanksgiving! Besides, I don’t like turkey.”
The neighbors have been eyeballing Thanksgiving, too. SwampMan was going to turn him loose, and they said they would purely love for Thanksgiving to come stalking into their yard. It isn’t every day that a turkey dinner walks right up to the front door demanding food. And bless his lil’ turkey heart, Thanksgiving ain’t all that bright.
SwampMan bought some New Zealand red rabbits at @ the same time as he bought Thanksgiving to make sure our freezer was full of rabbits. I dunno their names (I think he named them Blossom and…..I dunno. Something else that does not resemble food.) He put me in charge of finding a suitable male consort. I in no way believed that the progeny of Blossom and Not Blossom were destined for the freezer, so I haven’t looked for a sperm donor. Every morning before dawn when I’m out feeding Blossom, Not Blossom, and Jenny’s Rabbit, I tell myself it could be worse. There could be 30 of them.
Grin. Of course, I’m the one that’s been running a retirement home for old chickens, sheep, cats, and horses. A few rabbits and a turkey won’t hardly make a difference.