There are a lot of family cemeteries around here. It seems a lot more common here than up North. There is even a little plot right next to the exit ramp of one of our major interstate highways. There's also one right in the middle of a cow pasture near our local grocery store. And, there are tons of tiny little family plots on many of the back-road farms around here. It's so common, in fact, that a lot of the back roads are named for their cemeteries (e.g. Smith Cemetery Road, Jones Cemetery Road, Joe Bag-o-donuts Cemetery Road).
On one of the many Cemetery Roads there lives a humongous tom turkey. We're still trying to determine if he is a pet, or if he has just been lucky during hunting season (quick fact that is completely unrelated to the story - turkeys roost in trees; I don't know, they seem a little bulky for that ...). But, there have been many times that we've seen him strutting his stuff down the road, followed by a harem of turkey hens and, inexplicably, guinea fowl.
One time, the cherubs were (as usual) screaming in their car seats when we came upon the tom. We stopped to give the cherubs a closer look. I rolled down my window and did my best turkey call. To my surprise, the brazen bird gobbled back and started heading toward the car! I nervously continued gobbling, hoping that the bird would not fly at me in a pecking rage (do turkeys do that?), while Big Daddy snapped pictures with his camera phone.
The cherubs were appropriately impressed by the turkey, and we spent the rest of our drive being regaled with high-pitched gobbles from the back seat. I guess that's better than screaming ...
They Know Me So Well... Kind of
3 hours ago