Long Hollow

Dead Turkeys and Different Opinions (and a Frankie Flashback)

Last week Tom discovered a dead turkey down near our little pond. There were no signs of violence or obvious cause of death. We suppose it died of natural causes. I'm sure that happens occasionally in nature, doesn't it?

Well, Belle was with him that day. We're not sure if she acted alone, or if Max was the culprit, or it was teamwork, but that dead turkey somehow made its way up to our front porch. It was waiting for us when we came home from a birthday party that night, resting on one side of a doggy bed.

"No dead animals on the porch!" I told them, shaking my finger at the carcass. Then Tom scooped it onto a shovel (which we keep nearby for this reason!) and tossed it off the porch, into the woods.

The next morning it was back. Obviously, from a dog's perspective, a porch is a perfectly logical place to store a dead turkey.

But I don't share that view, and I'm the boss. We didn't have time to dispose of it again until that evening because of church and work, but this time, I scooped it up and carried it far into the woods, fussing at the dogs the whole way. Then (wearing gloves and continuing my tirade) I shook out the blankets and swept the feathers off of the porch. 

Just a difference of opinion... but mine won.

So far.

 

I didn't take a photo of the turkey. Even I draw the line somewhere. But its feathers were beautiful, stinky as they were. The black and white pattern reminded me of my Frankie's feathers, so, well, I couldn't resist. I'm grateful I didn't see the turkey while it was alive, or its death would have reminded me too, too much of Frankie.

Time truly is a balm to a broken heart. I can see the feathers or look at photos of his funny face, and instead of crying, I smile at the memories and the joy he brought me during the short time we had together.

Okay, maybe I cry a little. I still miss my Frankie bird.

 

Porcupines and other miracles on a morning walk

So here I am, walking through the woods in the gray light of morning, ducking under barbed wire, dodging scraggly cedar branches, stepping over fallen logs. My puppies are a dozen feet away, noses to the ground, investigating rocks and brush and just oozing with the joy of life, as usual.

I come to the edge of a dry creek ravine and look for the best way to descend. That's when I noticed this thing at the bottom, nestled in the rocks. It was about the size and shape of a tumbleweed, but it was colored a richer brown and more filled out.

Then it moved. Well, I thought it did. Maybe not. But yes, it did it again, and that's when I saw it's little black face and right away I knew what it was, although I'd never seen one outside of a zoo and never, ever expected to see one around the Hollow.

It was a porcupine, of course. I kind of gave it away in the title, didn't I?

The dogs spotted it right about then.

"Stay!" I told them when they started to charge. And, miraculously, they did! Such good puppies!

It was still fairly dark, and he was at least thirty feet away (I miss my zoom lens!), but I snapped a photo anyway, before Ereth (that's what I named him, from the Avi books) turned and waddled up the other side of the ravine. We waited for him to disappear into the brush before making our way down to the creek bed. 

We haven't seen him since, but that's okay. What matters is, I saw him once.

 

 

‎"Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything that is beautiful; for beauty is God's handwriting - a wayside sacrament. Welcome it in every fair face, in every fair sky, in every fair flower, and thank God for it as a cup of blessing."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

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