The mist hung heavy in the tall grasses, the air was cool, moist and clung to his clothing like the tears on the cheeks of a grieving mother. This would be his sixth year of the hunt and with the confidence of a quarterback on Super Bowl Sunday with under a minute to play and a 28 point lead he knew this was the day.
The bird had been spotted just hours before in the same location as previous years and this time there was no doubt that Thanksgiving dinner was going to include one very large, very tender and having some experience with said bird, very cunning turkey. His mouth was watering just from the thought of his first bite, now only hours away. There was movement in the brush.
As he looked down the barrel and rotated the M60 on its tripod he had a clear view of the grass field and there he was. Fortunately it was early because after cleaning the hunter soon to be chef thought it was going to be like 5-6 hours cooking time. The bird was huge and in seconds would be riding home in the back of his 4X4. Then he thought…no I’ll strap him to the hood for all to see.
He let out with a quick three round burst, feathers flew, one more burst to make sure, more feathers; the field was silent. The hunter could only hear his own shallow breathing and the whisper of the breeze across the feathers as they were slowly drifting back to earth. He rose from his perch, and slowly and methodically folded the tripod, brought his weapon to safe and harnessed it to his back.
There was an air of pride, a little spring to his step, only slightly noticeable rise in his chest as he cantered over to the area where most certainly lay the year’s most cherished of meals, this was not just dinner, this was Thanksgiving Dinner.
The bed of feathers got heavier as he got closer, he could taste victory as well as a thick slice of juicy, tender breast. He stopped, looked down at the carcass that lay before him and realized he had found an extremely expensive, custom made decoy he had purchased last year. Having been unable to locate it last year after the hunt and having little time before the markets closed he had abandon his search. He carefully lifted what was left of his terrific idea…it worked for ducks. He released his grip of the remains, totally un-recognizable; it appeared it took all six rounds including the one tracer round.
As he slowly made his way back to his truck, now destined for the market, he could hear in the distance what could only be described as the most guttural and sarcastic “Gobble, gobble” he had ever heard and then he thought, knowing full well it couldn’t be, he heard a deep belly chuckle. No way, way!
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
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