Talking turkey

Last night, Thing 1, Eric and I got to try to plug up the gaps in the poultry retention system. The turkeys are much more committed to escape than the chickens ever were, maybe because they're tree-roosters. Maybe I should have paid much more attention to Esperanza's experiences. We haven't had any walkabouts since one hen wandered off a couple of years ago, but the turkeys got into a neighbor's garden and made enough of an impact that he wasn't thrilled.

We promised to get them under control, and thought we had.

Then we saw this last night:


They kept leaping to the top of the coop, wedging their snaky neck heads under the wire, and wandering about on top of the run roof.

Since the bees were nicely tucked up in bed, we could run all over the poultry yard, wiring together any gaps. I hope it helps. Thing 1's maniacal giggling did not help.

Later, I was bemoaning something -- my lost youth or beauty, and Eric wrapped me in his arms.

"I think you're wildly attractive," he said. "In fact, you've completely reset my type."

I looked at him. "Really?"

"Yes. Now I like them . . . sort of skinny, and kind of . . . brown."

"What was your type before?"

"Willing."

It's good to have standards, I suppose.