One Hen, Two Chucks

It’s tough being an ignored Young Turk(ey)

Okay, so they’re names are really Bert and Larry.

Remember Gladys? Remember my she was an advance scout? Or maybe she just got tired of all the gobbling?

Not quite accurate.

She got tired of all the testosterone.

There was Gladys, merrily prancing through our yard, munching and mensching with the other Old Ones, then voobah, Bert and Larry show up.

She ignores them.

You should see the look on their faces when she does. There they are, strutting their stuff for all to see, and she’s all “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

I’m so glad I’ve found the love of my life. No more courting. No more prancing. No more fluffing, strutting, whatever.

As a joke, I strutted for a neighbor, Debbie. We sometimes walk our dogs together in the morning. She mentioned seeing two Toms in our backyard and I did a good 100ft riff on Turkey machismo. Debbie laughed so hard she almost dropped the leash.

So much for me strutting, huh?

Say hello to Bert and Larry, folks.

One Turkey, Two Turkeys, Three Turkeys, Four

Advance…Turkey…I guess

Okay, so far just one; Gladys.

Gladys has been coming around the past few days. Every year, as Spring approaches, we’ll have a single Turkey come by.

We think the single turkey – this year it’s Gladys – is an advance scout. Maybe an advance guard.

But then again, Turkeys. She could’ve simply tired of all the other hen’s gobbling – it’s turkey gossip, you know, all that gobbling. And the things they say! – and needed some time by herself.

Whatever, Gladys has been stopping by, inspecting our yard, making sure the proper amount of seed is available, making sure all the other Old Ones are playing nice, keeping things sorted. One year Agnes aka The Aginator aka The Turkinator literally patrolled the yard. Whenever there was a wildlife skirmish, she was right in there keeping the peace.

And Turkey forbid someone should near her private pile of seed. Chippie War Dance time, that.

We’re making sure Gladys gives our yard her claw of approval.

One can never have too many Turkeys, you know.

Say hello to Gladys, folks.


Aros, The Love Hawk

Watchful, patient, attentive. Anybody notice that Love is a lot like Predation?

Earlier this week we were graced by Aros. At first I thought he was saying “Eros” so we called him “The Love Hawk.”

Turns out we couldn’t quite make out his dialect. Aros, not Eros. For a while we thought he was saying “Aeros” and to be honest, that might be correct.
Swyrlian, the Hawk language, is not the easiest language for humans to understand. At least not this human. And for that matter, his dialect is Northeast Woodlands, making it a little more difficult. It’s like Portuguese to me; quite fast. Everything slurs together. I keep waiting for someone to take a breath.

We did learn that Hawks always start their names with “A”. We spent time with Avis, Aris, and Avid. Opossums always start their names with the “O”. Don’t know which language came first. Probably Opossum. Predators always evolve once prey exists to prey upon. Evolve before there’s prey and evolution’s screwed up, not doing its job. Not a chance, that.

Notice that “A” pattern in the Hawk names? Avis, Aris, Avid, Aros? No idea why. It’s not obvious in the Swyrlian. Maybe Lower Swyrlian but not Standard.

Once we got the name right and tuned our ears, we apologized for the “Love Hawk” reference and Aros laughed (Hawk laughter can be chilling if you’re unprepared. They stare at you intently, their beak opens, their rasper tongue darts in and out. Sometimes their talons strengthen their hold) and said we were spot on, he is known as The Love Hawk among his aerial peers.

Spend more time making yourself someone somebody would want. You can’t be a predator unless you’re willing to be the prey. Especially in love.

That’s when he pointed out that humans are confusing to Hawk and, indeed, most Old Ones. Being in love is an act of predation. You are going after something, hunting something, tracking something, not for food but for that other great need, procreation. The skills used for one are the skills used for another.

Where humans – as usual – muck it up is not knowing the limits of one or the other. Love becoming stalking is no longer love and the hunter becomes the prey of their own confused desires.

“I’ve often heard humans say, ‘If I can’t have you then nobody can’,” he said. “Few say, ‘If you can’t have me then nobody can’ and the truth is ‘If you don’t want me somebody else will.’ Spend more time making yourself someone somebody would want. You can’t be a predator unless you’re willing to be the prey. Especially in love.”

Wisdom of the Old Ones, that.

Meanwhile, Aros…


So Rude

Turning your back on your guests! And at the dinner table!

Life continues.

It may be the New Year according to at least one human calendar, The Wild doesn’t notice. Critters still must eat, Republicans and Democrats still must be hostile to each other.

One wonders how we Two-Leggers are from our non-human forebears. I mean, have you ever seen the childish behavior that gets in the way of getting things done along lawmakers and business leaders?

You have to wonder, are these really the people making the laws? Are these the people really keeping business running?

Case in point, dining.

Historically, meal time is where the most powergames occur. Not just in diplomatic and business circles, even among families.

Want to know a family’s true dynamic? Sit them around a table, see who gets to eat first, who gets to take the biggest helpings, who helps who with their food.

Want to know a nation’s dynamic? Go to a state dinner. Want to know a company’s dynamic? Go to a staff lunch or dinner.

I find such things fascinating. People spend more time figuring out the social signals than exchanging actionable information or eating.

Not so in The Wild.

You don’t want to talk to someone? Turn your back to them. Much easier and easily understood.


Thankful Turkeys Celebrate – Turkey Day of Infamy 2018

Did you celebrate the Turkey Day of Infamy?

Hello, World.

Non-USA readers may know that yesterday was the USA Thanksgiving, also known as Turkey Day of Infamy.

Oh? You’ve never heard of the Turkey Day of Infamy?

It’s widely known around these parts. Turkeys gather, flock, peck, commiserate, consolidate, and those who remain celebrate making it through another season of bloodshed and horror.

I mean, consider Thanksgiving from the turkeys’ point of view.

Oh, the turkanity!

Yesterday, before we took off to feast (to our everlasting shame!), we took a moment to thank the turkeys who remained with us.

We interviewed a few. Can’t share those. Such fowl language, you’ve never heard. (ha)

But quite the flock, folks.

Such is life in The Wild.