Snowdrops in the garden… the neighbor kids playing on their tree swing… amorous turkeys in the garden.

Thelma and the end-product of all that romance, 2008 edition

About that last one. Leaving the house this morning, I heard the unmistakable sound of a turkey gobbling. We have a local hen, known in the neighborhood as Thelma, so I figured it was her. As I drove around the corner, I saw that I’d guessed correctly — mostly. There was little, drab Thelma, surrounded by five (!) toms in all their glory, tail feathers fanned, mobbing her like some sort of Turkey Rules Rugby scrum. My first instinct was to feel bad for the poor girl, and then I stopped myself. When was the last time I’d seen that kind of attention from one guy, let alone five?

Pity morphed into envy, at lightning speed.

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