I had other plans for blogs this morning, but my son has left his class project out. One thing led to another, and, long story short, I have been mentoring a helpless, reluctant-to-be-eaten turkey in the art of disguise.
Here’s Ed’s (the turkey’s) backstory.
So, somebody is after the poor guy. He’s dinner otherwise. Got it.
After wishing Ed luck, I went about my business. When I got back to the kitchen, I found this:
“Are you kidding me, Ed? That’s a terrible disguise.”
“Did you just…? Cut it out. I can still see you. And hiding in a layer of chocolates? You might as well be hiding under beef jerky and a stack of Cabela’s catalogues.”
Shaking my head, I went back to cleaning up the kitchen. When I went in the living room, I found this:
“It’s a classic, Ed, but I think you’re going to need something that covers the whole butt of protruding feathers issue. Keep trying, buddy.”
Five minutes later, I checked back in and found:
“Oh, I see- pretending you’re already dead. But, sorry to say this Ed, this kind of dead won’t keep you from getting eaten.”
Ed was horrified. After a round of therapy, I found him in the kitchen again.
“I see what you did there! Well, it did work for that other guy. I’m just not sure if you really want to risk hiding in plain sight like that. Waldo has a lot of white, human privilege that lets him blend in unharrassed. I’m not sure if that would work for a turkey in a turtleneck.
I know, I know. This is hard. You’ve got to stop thinking like a turkey, Ed. Get with the human program, and find yourself a safe zone.”
I left Ed feeling discouraged. I made tea and went to start laundry. I found this:
I could have cried.
Ed had done it. He’d finally found a place that’s a total human turnoff. He was a safe turkey at last.
I wiped away a tear and made a note to call Bojangles and reserve my deep fried Thanksgiving dinner. For Ed’s sake, I prayed they hadn’t already sold out.