For the Love of Beaky

 

November 27, 2007

 

It’s Thanksgiving again and time I paid my annual tribute to Beaky.Beaky was my pet turkey the summer I was ten. There was at that time a comic book character, a turkey, by the name of Beaky, and I think that is where I got the name for my own pet turkey.

 

Beaky was the only surviving member of half a dozen turkeys we somehow hatched out that year. His brothers and sisters had each found one of the innumerable ways turkeys have to commit suicide - befriending coyotes, weasels, skunks and dogs, choking on small bugs, jumping off high places and forgetting to open their wings, that sort of thing. Benjamin Franklin once suggested that the turkey become our national bird, but he was referring to the wild turkey, a completely different animal from the tame turkey. My old friend, Charlie Elliot, famed as both author and hunter, referred to wild turkeys as “the ultimate game.” The domestic turkey, by contrast, is a dull fellow, who would not survive a day without human care and feeding.

 

I suspect Beaky was no different from other domestic turkeys - not to mention any names- but I took a liking to him. At age ten, I lived a lonely existence on our tiny farms, and human friends my age were few and far between. There was a teenager who lived across the creek from me and had sworn to kill me if he ever got his hands on me. Someone had once borrowed the canoe he had built during a mere thousand hours in high school wood shop. For some reason, I became his number one suspect. Still, it was nice to receive a bit of attention from someone.

 

Beaky truly liked me, however. He would follow me around like a dog and I would throw him sticks to retrieve and he would stand there and look at me, a quizzical expression on his face. Everybody needs a friend, and that summer I had Beaky. He was my only source of enjoyment, he and canoeing.

 

Then Thanksgiving Day arrived. My sister (the Troll), my mother and grandmother, my stepfather Hank and I were all seated around the dining room table, which was reserved for special occasions. In the middle of the table was a large golden-brown turkey. I had no affection for turkeys in general, and I would not be surprised to learn they were my favorite food at that time of my life. My plate was heaped with sweet-potatoes-and-marshmallows, mashed potatoes and gravy, ambrosia salad, Turkey dressing, and of course, slices of turkey.

 

The Troll smiled as she watched me devour my meal. Then she nonchalantly said, “Beaky tastes pretty good, doesn’t he?”

 

I cannot tell you the sense of horror that came over me. I shoved back from the table and glared at Hank and Mom. Never before had I realized that I lived in a family of cannibals! Whoever heard of eating a person’s pet! Mom and Hank looked embarrassed, as well they should have. I knew that the two of them had conspired in the crime. I fled the dining room and the house, retreating to one of the hideouts I had once shared with Beaky. There I reflected on this sad state of affairs. How could I ever come to grips with the fact that I lived in a family of cannibals, that Beaky would no longer be around to comfort me with his companionship, and that he did in fact taste pretty good. I returned to Thanksgiving dinner. Anyway, here’s to Beaky! May he never be forgotten!