Safe House

Early this morning I huddled together with fugitive turkeys hiding out in my basement. I told them I was going to do my best to protect them from hunters.

This part of town is ruthless on Thanksgiving. We get over 10,000 turkey hunters coming in from neighboring counties hoping to capture a turkey for their Thanksgiving meal tonight. They hunt today because of the freshness of the meat.

To counter the hunters offensive, I’ve been spending most of my day sitting out on my porch, non-nonchalantly smoking my pipe and giving false advice.

Hunters come by with their high powered rifles, scopes, and turkey radar detectors, and they tell me that their radars go nuts when they are near my property. I pretend to get excited and say that I saw a pack of wild and fat turkeys run past my front yard and into the woods. The hunters head into the woods with great glee.

There are 318 turkeys in my basement. They mostly watch TV and read. One of the turkeys is reading The Great Gatsby. That book’s supposed to be good, but I could never finish it.

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