Senseless Christmas sarcasm : Turkey think

As I’m preparing a 19 pound turkey for Christmas dinner, my writer’s mind wanders outside the universal box and into the WhatIf Zone.

My turkey from Thanksgiving

Farmer Brown has a turkey.  Actually, no.  Brown gave the turkey to his daughter.

What does that have to do with the bird I’m presently stuffing Pepperidge farm seasoned cubes into? 

Wait for it.

Brown is appalled!  His daughter plays with her turkey, hugs him, pets him, talks to him as if he understands every word she says, and…shudder… she loves the d@#$%d thing. 

In his rage, he wrings its neck in front of her and says, “This is food!  It’s not a dog!”

She becomes a vegetarian veterinarian and insists upon having Tofurkey every year.  He becomes concerned about her sanity the day she says, “I hope you’re reincarnated as a turkey!”

Since he’s 90 years old at the time, he dies of a heart attack and plops, face down, into the Tofurkey gravy.

His eyes flutter open.  It’s so dark!  Is this hell?  He struggles against the containment unit and it cracks open.  Oh, God!  The turkey’s are coming to get him!

It’s dark inside the barn, but…he has wings?  

Days of pecking for food, weeks of fighting for room in a crowded, filthy cavern.  His chest broadens, and he struts around as the king of his domain!  One day his 40 pound turkey body is herded into a transport with all the turkey’s he’s ever fought.  All the others are too frightened to do anything but huddle together.  When the door opens, a mass of people await.

Humans!  He’s saved! 

Or not. 

He’s flipped upside down and his legs are grabbed above the knees.  His head is stuck into a hole cut in a bucket, and pain sears through him as the arteries in his neck are cut!  

He watches above the carnage as his body is stuck into a turkey plucker, his butt hole is cut open, and his guts are taken out.   Then, he is one of many carcasses packaged and trucked away.

Floating along with the truck as it traveled a familiar road, he remembered where it lead to; the farmer’s market.  There, the cellophane package is tossed into a stack with a handwritten sign hanging above it.

He’d struggled for life, fought for food, became the biggest turkey in his world, just to be tossed into a bin that said,  “30 pounds and over?”

Walking the path through the bins was…was…his wife?  His youngest son, now 40,  walked along with her as she inspected each turkey.

“This is the largest I’ve seen,” she said, choosing her husband for dinner. 

“No!”  he shouted.  

As if time didn’t exist (which it doesn’t) he watched his wife stuff 2 packages of seasoned bread cubes into him, and stick the carcass into the oven.

As usual, his daughter arrived with her Tofurkey and smiled.  Not just any smile, but a devious, knowing, sinister thing — at exactly the place her father’s spirit floated.

“This is the first Christmas without you, and good riddance,” his vegetarian veterinary of a daughter whispered. “Did you know I can talk with animals and spirits? Of course not, you destructive piece of…”

“Hope,” her brother called to her.  “Time to celebrate with family.”

One of her brothers carved the turkey, and for the first time in 40 years, she took a thigh, covered it with giblet gravy, and said, “A thigh for a thigh, a truth for a truth, what comes around goes around, we eat what we know.”

“Who are you talking to?” Her mother asked, looking at the place in the wall where her husband floated.

“No one important,” she said.  “It’s just food for thought.”