Turkey Day

“Gobble gobble,” she said as she pecked some grain from between my clawed feet.

“I see your point,” I said, although it came out as gobble gobble to the men working their way through our ranks, axes resting on their shoulders.

I suppose it is all we have to eat, although I could really go for a cheeseburger right now. Reincarnation can really make one hungry, apparently. Gobble gobble.

I waddled across the pen, my wattle swung back and forth, to the hulking stag who seemed to know what he was doing as several hens pecked and preened at his feet. As the executioners milled about the pen, it became clear I’d be better off next to another turkey much larger than myself, selective evolution being what it is during the Thanksgiving Holiday.

“Being a turkey isn’t half bad once you get past the shock,” I said as I scratched the dry soil with my claws and pecked at the grains, trying to get the attention of the big guy.

Gobble Gobble.

Wait – shouldn’t I be able to understand what they are saying?

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