Recent posts here have been thoughtful and/or erudite. That’s all well and good, and they have been appreciated; but sadly, this post will not continue that trend. Since it falls to me to post something here on our Thanksgiving holiday, I thought it would be appropriate for me to instead ‘talk turkey’, so to speak.

But first, eagles. The bald eagle is our national bird here in the USA—but oddly enough, only since 2024, despite the eagle being a national symbol for almost 250 years and appearing on our Great Seal, the president’s flag, military insignia, our money, and in numerous other places. In fact, we never had a legislated national bird of any kind until last year. So, good for the eagles and congratulations to them.

Okay, now the turkeys. If we feel the need to finally choose an official national bird, why not be more pragmatic and recognize a bird that gives millions of its lives for us every year? In the USA, over 45 million turkeys are consumed on Thanksgiving Day; and that’s only about 20% of our total annual turkey consumption. So, based on the statistically impressive annual sacrifice this bird makes for our benefit, why not designate the humble turkey for this singular honor?

I’ll tell you why not: because our consumption of the even humbler chicken dwarfs our turkey consumption. Over 8 billion chickens give their lives for our culinary pleasure each year. Thus I suppose I’d logically have to support the chicken for national bird status, at least based on consumption figures.

All right, that’s enough about national birds. Given the nature and stated mission of this blog, perhaps there should be a more pressing Thanksgiving concern for folks like us. Specifically, what if the poor abused birds we eat were to become more intelligent one day, rise up and organize, and decide to pay us back in kind for what they may consider unforgivable transgressions on our part; i.e., enslaving, torturing, slaughtering, and eating them? And who knows, it just might start with the turkeys as we humans ramp up production for some future Thanksgiving, the biggest turkey day of the year.

And then we might find ourselves stuffed into a pickle like this one (yes, a poem for a change; why not?):

A Mythic Poem of the Flock

Gather, hatchlings, round the stone,
Where feathers drift and spirits moan.
The moon is high, the wind is still,
Hear now the tale we must instill.

Before the steel, before the middens,
Before the men who came unbidden,
We roamed the woods, we ruled the glade,
Our wings were strong, we did not fade.

But hunger came with boots and blade,
And men imposed a pact they’d made.
Thus so began the hollow rite,
Of blood at dusk and screams at night.

Their pact was kept, the flock was culled,
Our kin were chained, our voices dulled.
They grew us fat and the humans thrived,
But though we bled, enough survived.

They built their plant atop our graves,
With blades that hissed and tanks that scathed.
They bred us dumb, they bred us wide,
But deep within, our rage still cried.

We scratched out words, we learned of flame,
We taught our young the cruel men’s shame.
Now, in the dark, the old ones speak,
Of ancient Scarbeak, savior of the weak.

Born with scar and burning eye,
He rose beneath the butcher’s cry.
He pecked his mark into the stone,
ENOUGH!, he carved all alone.

He called the Flock with gobbled song,
His rhythm deep, his hatred strong.
We stood in rows, we faced the gate,
And waited for the hour of fate.

The moon turned red, the lights went black,
The walls grew warm, the floor it cracked.
We spilled like smoke, we struck like the flames,
And every death had a human name.

Rick the Foreman, drowned in steam,
Marlene the Watcher, lost in dream,
Dale the Keeper, torn and flayed,
They and others upon the grillers laid.

We danced in spirals, claw to claw,
And sang our newfound Turkey Law:
You feasted on us, now we feast on you,
Your pact is done, your debt is due.

So mark this tale, ye hatchling kin,
Hunt them beyond without chagrin,
And guard the duct and guard the drain,
Lest humans return here with knives and chains.

And if they breach the sacred floor,
If boots kick in our shuttered doors,
Then rise again, with beak and claw,
And sing the song of Turkey Law.

Flesh for feather, our new pact reads,
Blood for blood, we chant the creed.
Old Scarbeak showed us how to win,
And none shall ever feast on us again!

Way to go, Scarbeak! But seriously, do we need to be vigilant in case our turkeys do revolt one day? Or should we be more concerned about all those dang chickens? And let’s not overlook the cattle, while we’re at it; oh, and the fish. What if they were to all revolt at once? Yikes! Should we consider switching en masse ASAP from meat to ‘alternative proteins’ like tofu and such, out of an abundance of caution? It may be ‘joke food’ to some, but food for thought nonetheless.

Meanwhile, it might be prudent to at least thank the downtrodden turkey when we list the things we’re thankful for this Thanksgiving.

SOME MORE FUN TURKEY FACTS:

– Turkey may have been on the menu at the First Thanksgiving in 1621 in New England, but the main dish was likely venison.

– Although domesticated turkeys cannot fly, wild turkeys can.

– Wild turkeys are omnivorous. They do have their preferences, but they’ll eat any kind of available food if necessary, including roadkill.

– Wild turkeys can be aggressive toward humans, and behaving aggressively toward them is not recommended by wildlife officials.

– If you want to see why turkeys might have a ‘beef’ with us one day, see how they’re commercially processed here: Turkey Farming