A funny thing happened on the way to the Thanksgiving festivities.
Oddly beset with the true spirit of the Pilgram Fathers, I bought a live turkey — from quite a weird featured character, as I recall — the day before Thanksgiving, determined to prepare it from scratch as our first settlers had done.
But the novice I was at being a first settler, the turkey got loose from its pen in the back yard and swiftly disappeared with gobbly grunts of victory into the woods.
“Gads, so much for the pilgrim spirit,” I sighed heavily in disappointment. “I’m stuck with the stale chicken in the fridge!”
Following the turkey’s daring escape on Thanksgiving Eve, defying all turkey lore, I sought solace by rereading my novel Of Good And Evil on the open porch in back. Laughing and crying while immersed in deep thought, I found the book still to be fantastic reading. So fantastic that the turkey, safely hidden in the woods, mesmerized by all my laughing and crying, gobbled back in a dash and strangely demanded to read the novel (this daring turkey escape artist was so bizarre that it could do this, and with amazing speed). Finishing the suspense thriller, the turkey looked at me with those flashing, gobbly turkey eyes, and in its excited, gobbly turkey sounds (which even more amazingly I could understand), said to me:
“I’m getting you a copy of this spectacular thriller as a Christmas gift!”
Needless to say, these words were better than a White House pardon.
The turkey and I ended up eating chicken together on Thanksgiving.