Chasing Turkeys

Ranger, our five-month-old German Shepherd, is away at Puppy Boarding School with a professional trainer for a few days and nights a week.  His loving attention can literally knock us off our feet.  Hence, the call for help.  A well-behaved and trained dog is pure pleasure.  Ranger will be that after he serves his time at K-9 Activity and Training Center. He is paroled on weekends and we’ll join him and his training for classes soon.

In the meantime, our delightful, deep-barking, shot-out-of-a-cannon fast canine is not here to chase the flock of wild turkeys out of our yard.  Ranger spots them and is quick to the call of duty.  I didn’t notice the rafter of turkeys until they were gathered on our back lawn, scratching, pecking, and gobbling about the upcoming festivities that put their plumper cousins on platters.

I barreled out the sliding glass door, bounded across the deck, launched down the steps and headed straight for them with flapping arms, barking as deeply and loudly as I could.  Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! Ranger can get them airborne in seconds.  With me, they paused from their gab session, stared in shock, then ran with long skinny legs and far more grace than I was managing.  I galloped after them like a thirty-year old horse who should be retired to the barn.  Still barking.  Ruff!  Gasp..  Ruff!  Gasp… Down to the corner, into the vineyard, back around to the other corner.  Finally, they flew!  Good thing because this old mare was winded and ready to nose-plant in the redwood mulch.

I can see them on the other side of the dry retaining “pond”, gathering and gobbling.  If they had lips, they’d be smirking.

They remind me of politicians who gather and gobble as they scratch dirt, looking for something to get their bills into, and when caught, run and hide, then gather again on the hill to smirk, always carefree and careless of the destruction they leave behind.