His Last Day
26 Nov 2007
Every year was the same, we bought turkeys raised them than soled them for Thanksgiving. I hated it. I never went down to the pen, I never feed them, watered them, my brother always did the dirty work. But this summer was different. I went with my dad to pick them up, there was twelve. They were only baby turkeys, I couldn't help myself. I got attached. The pen that my dad originally had them in was too dirty and small. I decided that they would feel more at home with a log cabin play house we had in the back yard. Everyday I would feed them and give them water. There was one turkey that was always away from the others, he was the last one out the door and the last one to go back inside. He was my buddy, always following me around the yard, I would hold him in my hand and walk with him. I even took him in the house and watched as he feel going up the stairs. After two weeks he developed faster than the other turkeys. He would strut around as a "Tom" turkey would. That was because he was. My dad ordered all Hens because they are less territorial with each other. But this turkey was the mistake, he got put into the wrong box. But my dad didn't mind because he was the only one, and "they won't be around long enough to hurt each other," I named him Drake. He was so much larger and whiter than any of the other turkeys. Another week went by and then on August the 13th, Drake was curled up in the corner of the log cabin, all alone. All the other turkeys went outside to play in the dewy grass, but not Drake. I taped on the door and shake the food dish. All the other turkeys came running but not Drake. My eyes welled up with water, I got on the hands and knees, crawled inside and picked him up. His fragile head fell over my thumb and his eyes where half open. I felt so bad at this moment and yet still so calm. Drake wasn't going to be killed and eaten on Thanksgiving, but he wouldn't get to continue to live. Every year one or two turkeys died but this one looked so sad. It sounds so dumb, how I was so upset over the death of a baby turkey, but yet I ate the turkeys we raised every year. I took my old DVS shoe box and filled it with cotton balls. I dung a hole in the garden and put Drake in the box. Finally I buried him. That morning I didn't even tell anyone that one turkey had died. "It's just a turkey, stuff like this happens."