Lloyd was in rare form this morning, even for Lloyd.
I went out to hook the truck to the trailer and as we don’t invest in things like rear view truck cameras or automatic gate openers when we have a handy 7-year-old kid around, Evie was helping guide me back. We were almost in place when the whole show got stopped by Turkey porn.
Because, you see, our fat brown turkey hen, Turkey Girl, who is as close to a live basketball as Lloyd can find had chosen to squat down in the 2 feet left between truck and trailer and invite the ever-present Lloyd for a ride, and for whatever demented reason, Lloyd chose that moment to accept. And so Evie stopped me and the truck before I made a turkey panini out of them both.
Now, of course, Lloyd doesn’t actually DO anything once he jumps on Turkey Girl’s wide back—he just stands there awkwardly, periodically pecking her in the back of the head to keep his balance. Evie is very attached (as we all are) to Turkey Girl and his pecking suddenly elicited her Mama Bear response because the next thing I heard after “Mom, stop, the turkeys!” is “Lloyd, how dare you!” and the screeches and mutteringsof Evie as she tries to get him to quit pecking his woman. 🤦♀️ Things were escalating and not in a good way.
It was at this point that I put the truck in park to see what could be done. I came to find that we had a 60-pound speedbump of humping turkey directly between truck and trailer. The turkeys were literally f*cking in my way.
Turkey Girl just sat there with her patient, resigned expression and Lloyd stood on top of her, snood fully duded, trying to keep his balance on her roly poly back and still somehow flag his tail and “strut”. Neither showed any sign of giving way and we all can remember that Lloyd has literally stood on the back of Turkey Girl until nightfall and then just simply used her as a roost and fallen asleep. There was nothing for it, we were going to have to manually remove the turkeys.
If you have never had the fun of physically moving a large adult Turkey that doesn’t want to move, well, good for you—YOU are a sane, fully functional adult person with rational activities to fill your days.
I am not.
I am the person who, after being wing beaten and bitch slapped by innumerable birds over the years, has perfected form and technique so that in most cases, I can pick up and move even fat-ass turkeys with minimal injury to my person. And so it was I picked up and body hugged two idiot turkeys to my chest and moved them across the yard to, ah, resume their “fun”.
And because things like this technically represent a “normal” morning on our farm, Evie and I simply finished the job of hitching up and went about our day. C’est la vie at Dalarna Farm.