This is the second year we've raised turkeys although there was a year of no turkeys in between the two. Now, I am reminded why we took a year off in between--to allow us to forget what a crazy species this is. There is an apt reason why we ask a goofy-acting kid to stop acting like a turkey or we chastise ourselves with "turkey brains" or "bird brains" when we do something silly or forget to do something at all. Let me explain.
Our turkeys (8 Bourbon Red, 6 Royal Palm) are about 12 weeks old. Until yesterday they had been living in a rather comfortable turkey pen in the big barn. Yesterday, we decided to open the sliding door to the outside world and give them the option to fly down and out to the pasture at large. They were curious about the big outdoors but spent all day sitting on the door ledge, and staying safely inside, softly talking to themselves. Perhaps the conversation went something like this:
Gertrude: What's that bright light?
Hazel: Gee, Gertrude, I don't know? George, what is that light?
George: Um, I'm going to get more food.
Mort: We're not in Kansas anymore.
Marge: Nope, dear, this isn't Kansas. We never were in Kansas in the first place.
Mort: Is that so? Interesting. What's that down there?
Marge: I don't know. I think I'll just stay where I am.
Huxley: Oh, look, a fly. Wait, let me get it. Missed. Oh wait, there's another one.
Hazel: We're kind of far up. Okay, now, where did I leave my brain?
We relocked the door at night. Today, we repeat the pattern and as of 4pm, they had not made the leap out yet. Upon returning home around 7:30pm however, all of them were outside (probably after coming to a consensus that it was indeed okay to fly down), and huddled around the chicken yard with 2 of the birds inside the chicken yard and the remaining 12 outside (it's nice to know that at least they stick together as a group). Suddenly remembering instances from two years ago, I said out loud to my darling husband: Let me change back into my farm clothes and then we can go get them. His response, apparently not having recovered from the turkey-induced amnesia last time around was "they'll come right in when I whistle. They know that means food". After freeing the two birds that had got on the other side of the chicken fence, I went inside to change, knowing that sheparding the turkeys back in would indeed require a little bit of finesse and time. My darling husband shortly followed, coming out of his denial that the turkeys were actually intelligent creatures.
I really wished I had video taped what happened next. My darling husband is able to get the birds flocked together and headed back to the door of their pen. The problem is that it is a 4 foot flight up to that door since the barn is on a slope. The turkeys were more than a little confused not only about how they should get up there, but why bother in the first place. Now, mind you, they can fly 8 feet up to their perch at night, no problem. But having to fly up 4 feet to a 2 foot wide opening presented an unusual challenge for them...apparently. A couple of the bolder ones (I'm sure they were the hens and not the toms) took the chance, sat back on their haunches and took flight, but it was as if they were flying blindly. They'd fly up but they'd miss the doorway...repeatedly. I felt like putting a flashing neon sign above the door with a large arrow pointing "ENTER HERE!". Once the majority eventually made it back inside by random luck, the remaining birds were faster to catch on to at least attempt the flight, although watching their flockmates did nothing to improve their accuracy at flying in. We even had a couple of Royal Palms inadvertantly perform a high wire act on the electric fence (it was off) and subsequently fly into the pig pen.
Eventually, we got them all back in and tucked away for the night. As we left the pasture my darling husband says to me, "Oh come on, it was their first time having to fly up like that. They had no clue what they were doing. Remember how we looked the first time we ever tried something? Give them a break." Hmm. How many more weeks until Thanksgiving?
Our turkeys (8 Bourbon Red, 6 Royal Palm) are about 12 weeks old. Until yesterday they had been living in a rather comfortable turkey pen in the big barn. Yesterday, we decided to open the sliding door to the outside world and give them the option to fly down and out to the pasture at large. They were curious about the big outdoors but spent all day sitting on the door ledge, and staying safely inside, softly talking to themselves. Perhaps the conversation went something like this:
Gertrude: What's that bright light?
Hazel: Gee, Gertrude, I don't know? George, what is that light?
George: Um, I'm going to get more food.
Mort: We're not in Kansas anymore.
Marge: Nope, dear, this isn't Kansas. We never were in Kansas in the first place.
Mort: Is that so? Interesting. What's that down there?
Marge: I don't know. I think I'll just stay where I am.
Huxley: Oh, look, a fly. Wait, let me get it. Missed. Oh wait, there's another one.
Hazel: We're kind of far up. Okay, now, where did I leave my brain?
We relocked the door at night. Today, we repeat the pattern and as of 4pm, they had not made the leap out yet. Upon returning home around 7:30pm however, all of them were outside (probably after coming to a consensus that it was indeed okay to fly down), and huddled around the chicken yard with 2 of the birds inside the chicken yard and the remaining 12 outside (it's nice to know that at least they stick together as a group). Suddenly remembering instances from two years ago, I said out loud to my darling husband: Let me change back into my farm clothes and then we can go get them. His response, apparently not having recovered from the turkey-induced amnesia last time around was "they'll come right in when I whistle. They know that means food". After freeing the two birds that had got on the other side of the chicken fence, I went inside to change, knowing that sheparding the turkeys back in would indeed require a little bit of finesse and time. My darling husband shortly followed, coming out of his denial that the turkeys were actually intelligent creatures.
I really wished I had video taped what happened next. My darling husband is able to get the birds flocked together and headed back to the door of their pen. The problem is that it is a 4 foot flight up to that door since the barn is on a slope. The turkeys were more than a little confused not only about how they should get up there, but why bother in the first place. Now, mind you, they can fly 8 feet up to their perch at night, no problem. But having to fly up 4 feet to a 2 foot wide opening presented an unusual challenge for them...apparently. A couple of the bolder ones (I'm sure they were the hens and not the toms) took the chance, sat back on their haunches and took flight, but it was as if they were flying blindly. They'd fly up but they'd miss the doorway...repeatedly. I felt like putting a flashing neon sign above the door with a large arrow pointing "ENTER HERE!". Once the majority eventually made it back inside by random luck, the remaining birds were faster to catch on to at least attempt the flight, although watching their flockmates did nothing to improve their accuracy at flying in. We even had a couple of Royal Palms inadvertantly perform a high wire act on the electric fence (it was off) and subsequently fly into the pig pen.
Eventually, we got them all back in and tucked away for the night. As we left the pasture my darling husband says to me, "Oh come on, it was their first time having to fly up like that. They had no clue what they were doing. Remember how we looked the first time we ever tried something? Give them a break." Hmm. How many more weeks until Thanksgiving?
(The photo is actually of the last batch of turkeys. I will post new photos next week)
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