Turkeyville

About 100 miles from where we live is a tiny community called “Turkeyville.” We are well aware of the custom on the fourth Thursday of November when we set aside one day to gather around a festive table loaded with goodies surrounding a turkey (or possibly some other festive food).

Turkeyville, although known for its turkey farms, has a dinner theater that has made a name for itself. We went there with a tour group and thoroughly enjoyed the turkey dinner and the following theatrical production.

We live in the center of our robust city (@40,000 inhabitants but it increases to about 100,000 with all five administrative centers). We are not downtown but live nearby in a condo surrounded by woods. This is a perfect setting for us and our friends: fox, wild turkeys, raccoons, deer, rabbits and all adding to our enjoyment.

A scraggly almost pathetic old turkey would cross our yard heading for some place we know not where. Now, even if I could, I wouldn't be tempted to pull a trigger in order to have a free meal. Not only because he didn't look edible, it just didn't seem right. He was a sight we rarely saw, unlike the graceful deer, and his younger compatriots who seemingly ignored him. He always traveled by himself, lonely, pathetic, scrawny, not suitable for Turkeyville but quite welcome in our neighborhood.

Frankly, we felt sorry for the ol' bird and we miss him, wondering if he is still alive. Why do I have this strange feeling for a pathetic creature but nothing comparable while enjoying a turkey dinner? They are both turkeys even though one no doubt is more edible than the other.

No, this isn't a plea for vegetarianism nor an argument for poultry. Rather, it is that sensitivity that comes from an association, even one so remote. We never knew the turkey who graced our table but we had a warm feeling toward that helpless, antediluvian wild turkey who didn't seem to have a friend in the world.

We all have experienced warm feelings that arrive unexpectedly as did this one. We all would do well to cherish these compassionate moments even if triggered by a lonely, pathetic, scrawny turkey. Why? Because many of us probably could use a little more empathy and compassion.