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About a month ago, I became owner of the two 'querkey turkeys shown above. No, not in my wildest dreams did I ever fancy owning turkeys some day. But W&G needed feed money and their turkey buyers had not shown up as promised so ... well, you get the idea. I said I would buy the two above since they are supposed to be native to New Mexico but don't ask me what they are called because I've already forgotten as I do with so many details lately. They are all too old and tough for dinner and they may or may not be young enough to even produce offspring. Just consider them corn-burning welfare pets as I do. The Katlady might at least get some good feathers for her costume projects.
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Now meet Hannah (above). Okay, so she might not be a classic good-looker unless you are another turkey but she at least has a personality and has become my turkey pet number 3 and my favorite homely bird.
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It all started when W&G asked me if I would feed their remaining critters here one day. Hey, I'm willing to try anything once so I marched out to the two pens after Gayle gave me instructions on who gets what quantity of cracked corn, etc. The first enclosure held assorted ducks, chickens and MANY flying rats (W&G call them pigeons) which flapped around with horrendous noise and air currents in front of my face as I tried to dole out corn in many small piles. It soon became obvious that any orderly distribution of feed was lost in the flap and I retreated after flinging the remainder of the corn in a broad pattern as cover fire.
The turkey pen was a little more civil although they have a number of pigeons, these are a racing breed, in there as well. Have I already mentioned that I really don't care for pigeons? It has something to do with Terry and I once donning surplus Israeli gas masks and ascending into a 120 degree barn loft to shovel a hundred or so pounds of pigeon guano out the second story window, guano laced with histoplasmosis which had nearly killed the pigeon owner who left that mess of crusty turds and bird skeletons in situ. But that is another story from another time.
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I didn't know her name (or that she even had one) at the time but when I told Wayne about the unusually tame white hen turkey who had let me pet her incredibly soft white plumage in return of a heads-in first dibs on the corn and later went wild over the black banana which I had sliced up skin and all, he told me all about Hannah. She had been a spoiled pet until she got huffy when the fellow didn't share part of his lunch with her as was customary. She thrashed and clawed him about the head in a vicious tantrum. W & G ended up with her and had let her have free run of the yard until she also attacked Gayle who was innocently milking goats at the time. Gayle said that Hannah became a regular penned turkey from that very day forth. They noted that Hannah had lost a lot of that rude-itude once she was demoted to joe average yard bird and forced to keep the company of other turkeys but that she still has her testy moments.
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Above is Hannah working on an attitude. They warned me to watch for this telltale sign of blustering and puffing up. The advice was well taken and I left the coop immediately after taking this photo. My face and limbs had endured enough fang and claw attacks that I have little interest in tempting fate.
After I told Wayne about Hannah's mad obsession with banana slices, he rechristened her "Hannah Banana". That name is a definite keeper.
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Now you're finally going to meet Virgil face-to-face, along with his new and first child; a beautiful daughter. If you are not familiar with how Virgil made our life in the middle-of-nowhere bearable, enter "Virgil" into the search engine thingy at the top of this page. He and Jenny quickly became family to us in that first extremely tough year off the grid so I feel like I nearly have a grandchild of my own now, only wishing that Terry had been here to see her, too. He had loved them both as dearly as I, and he and Virgil traded some amusing mutual calls for aid when the wash mud got too deep as well as tackling some daunting ranch projects together.
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Looking over the beautiful baby girl is Earl and Skeeter's little orangy tiger cat which Virgil adores. Earl is another of the 'angels of the gas field' as one neighbor aptly calls them. Those neighbors were also considered 'outsiders' in the canyon by the multi-generation ranchers and suffered in deeply hurtsome and unwarranted ways from the venom of our mutual anti-neighbor in particular. For them, too, the good-natured men of the gas field were always a dependable blessing.
One day, I need to write more about Earl - particularly his high-speed response to my call for help on Terry's last day. I do apologize, I cannot continue this tale ... it is as though someone is gripping my heart like an over-ripe orange and squeezing until the pulp explodes outwards. Maybe someday but not now, not yet. I have since learned a painful lot about how clueless and insensitive humans can be but the consistent shining exception has been those rough and tough boys, our angels of the gas field. And if I die 'before my time', I'd very much like to watch over them if I can, to return that love and loyalty they gave us without expectation or judgment. May you also have such rare gems come into your lives some day and, more importantly, may you recognize and appreciate them for the incredibly caring beings they are.
.
.
.
.
.
.
About a month ago, I became owner of the two 'querkey turkeys shown above. No, not in my wildest dreams did I ever fancy owning turkeys some day. But W&G needed feed money and their turkey buyers had not shown up as promised so ... well, you get the idea. I said I would buy the two above since they are supposed to be native to New Mexico but don't ask me what they are called because I've already forgotten as I do with so many details lately. They are all too old and tough for dinner and they may or may not be young enough to even produce offspring. Just consider them corn-burning welfare pets as I do. The Katlady might at least get some good feathers for her costume projects..
.
Now meet Hannah (above). Okay, so she might not be a classic good-looker unless you are another turkey but she at least has a personality and has become my turkey pet number 3 and my favorite homely bird..
It all started when W&G asked me if I would feed their remaining critters here one day. Hey, I'm willing to try anything once so I marched out to the two pens after Gayle gave me instructions on who gets what quantity of cracked corn, etc. The first enclosure held assorted ducks, chickens and MANY flying rats (W&G call them pigeons) which flapped around with horrendous noise and air currents in front of my face as I tried to dole out corn in many small piles. It soon became obvious that any orderly distribution of feed was lost in the flap and I retreated after flinging the remainder of the corn in a broad pattern as cover fire.
The turkey pen was a little more civil although they have a number of pigeons, these are a racing breed, in there as well. Have I already mentioned that I really don't care for pigeons? It has something to do with Terry and I once donning surplus Israeli gas masks and ascending into a 120 degree barn loft to shovel a hundred or so pounds of pigeon guano out the second story window, guano laced with histoplasmosis which had nearly killed the pigeon owner who left that mess of crusty turds and bird skeletons in situ. But that is another story from another time.
.
I didn't know her name (or that she even had one) at the time but when I told Wayne about the unusually tame white hen turkey who had let me pet her incredibly soft white plumage in return of a heads-in first dibs on the corn and later went wild over the black banana which I had sliced up skin and all, he told me all about Hannah. She had been a spoiled pet until she got huffy when the fellow didn't share part of his lunch with her as was customary. She thrashed and clawed him about the head in a vicious tantrum. W & G ended up with her and had let her have free run of the yard until she also attacked Gayle who was innocently milking goats at the time. Gayle said that Hannah became a regular penned turkey from that very day forth. They noted that Hannah had lost a lot of that rude-itude once she was demoted to joe average yard bird and forced to keep the company of other turkeys but that she still has her testy moments..
Above is Hannah working on an attitude. They warned me to watch for this telltale sign of blustering and puffing up. The advice was well taken and I left the coop immediately after taking this photo. My face and limbs had endured enough fang and claw attacks that I have little interest in tempting fate.After I told Wayne about Hannah's mad obsession with banana slices, he rechristened her "Hannah Banana". That name is a definite keeper.
.
******
.Now you're finally going to meet Virgil face-to-face, along with his new and first child; a beautiful daughter. If you are not familiar with how Virgil made our life in the middle-of-nowhere bearable, enter "Virgil" into the search engine thingy at the top of this page. He and Jenny quickly became family to us in that first extremely tough year off the grid so I feel like I nearly have a grandchild of my own now, only wishing that Terry had been here to see her, too. He had loved them both as dearly as I, and he and Virgil traded some amusing mutual calls for aid when the wash mud got too deep as well as tackling some daunting ranch projects together.
.
.Looking over the beautiful baby girl is Earl and Skeeter's little orangy tiger cat which Virgil adores. Earl is another of the 'angels of the gas field' as one neighbor aptly calls them. Those neighbors were also considered 'outsiders' in the canyon by the multi-generation ranchers and suffered in deeply hurtsome and unwarranted ways from the venom of our mutual anti-neighbor in particular. For them, too, the good-natured men of the gas field were always a dependable blessing.
One day, I need to write more about Earl - particularly his high-speed response to my call for help on Terry's last day. I do apologize, I cannot continue this tale ... it is as though someone is gripping my heart like an over-ripe orange and squeezing until the pulp explodes outwards. Maybe someday but not now, not yet. I have since learned a painful lot about how clueless and insensitive humans can be but the consistent shining exception has been those rough and tough boys, our angels of the gas field. And if I die 'before my time', I'd very much like to watch over them if I can, to return that love and loyalty they gave us without expectation or judgment. May you also have such rare gems come into your lives some day and, more importantly, may you recognize and appreciate them for the incredibly caring beings they are.
.
******
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A friend sent me a collection of cute critters expressing various sentiments. I liked this one the best:.
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