There was a dead turkey in the road directly across from my parent’s house today. I have no idea where it came from. Ashley suggested it might have been an escapee from the wild turkey shoot they had yesterday at Fort Frederick. Maybe it flew away without getting shot, landed across from our house to figure out where in the fuck in the world it was, started across the road to ask directions and got steamrolled by some local redneck’s F-350. It was there when Ashley and I arrived last night, and was still there this morning. Mom told me she’d seen the old man whose job it is to clear roadkill drive by three times without stopping. He had Thanksgiving off, I guess.
A dead turkey in front of your house on Thanksgiving might be an omen to some, but this one turned out pretty damn good. One of the minor perks of being with Ashley is that I get two Thanksgiving dinners. We ate with her family around 12 – chicken, mashed potatoes, sauerkraut, peas, corn, and baked oysters. Fuckin’ A. Then I picked up Granny and around 4 we ate with my family – Cornish hens, sweet potatoes, succotash, stuffing, and mashed potatoes and gravy. We’ve never really been a turkey-eating family at Thanksgiving. Dad says it’s because he ate turkey for thirty years working winters at Woodmont, and he doesn’t care if he ever eats it again as long as he lives. But working at Woodmont all those years didn’t sour him on deer meat . . . quite a conundrum, if you’re the type that gives a fuck, which chances are you’re not, so I’ll drop the subject.
I scooped the turkey carcass up with a shovel and tossed it in the grassy lot across the street before I left to pick up Granny. I thought about walking over to the park and laying it on the youth soccer field, but it was a long walk and I wanted to get going.