Every morning I come back from the bus stop, our resident flock of turkeys is in the road.
I think they know my car, because they never skedaddle the way you’d think wildlife should when confronted with a middle-aged mom driving under the influence of missed-the-bus-again-rage. They used to flutter to get from the hillside to the horse field when they saw me roaring up the hill, but now they lolly-gag. I’ve even had to honk my horn and threaten to get out of the car to shoo them out of the way.
They’re not just ignoring me. They’re actually blowing me off, and there’s something so familiar about the situation (not just because it’s a daily occurence). It’s like they think they know everything and I’m suddenly an idiot.
But today I remembered these turkeys were born last spring which right now make them kind of like turkey teenagers. So I should be getting used to this treatment by now.
Of course, whether you own or lease your teenager or wait for other turkeys’ teenagers to finish crossing the dirt road, understanding the problem is not the same as knowing what to do to solve it. I think we’re going to have to wait it out until Christmas when they get their goose’s cooked. Or they have to start paying their own bills.