I try to be conscientious and ethical whenever I can. Whether it’s recycling cans or spitting directly in the face of any waiter who offers me a non-biodegradable straw, I always try to make sure I’m doing my best to reduce my footprint on this earth. I’d always heard vegans talk about how turkeys are friendly creatures who deserve love. To my shame, I’d always thought of them as fat mutant dinosaurs with a neon scrotum on their face. So this year, instead of roasting a turkey for Thanksgiving, I, like Disneyland, rescued a Thanksgiving turkey.
I got off to a bit of a rocky start with my, dare I say it, heroic and selfless plan. First, I tried calling local turkey farms and saying I wanted to save a turkey. This did not go over well, and I still haven’t recovered from being called a soy-eating yo-yo. No one would agree to sell me a live turkey, no matter how I reminded them that their jobs are evil. As we got closer to Thanksgiving, however, the pressure mounted on me to find one to rescue. After all, my turkey saving blog already had 300 followers, there’s no backing out at that point.
Unable to get my turkey via a local farm, I had to brace myself and go into enemy territory: a regular person grocery store. By the way, their produce section was appalling (not a SINGLE organic Meyer lemon??). But I will admit, they had a wide variety of turkeys. I picked out a whopper – nearly twenty pounds – and cradled it as I carried it out. You’d imagine my turkey would start expressing relief as I dropped it gently into it’s pen, but it sort of just…sat there. I get it; a new location after so much torment must be scary. Being frozen solid probably didnt’ help.
I was begining to question the wisdom of the vegans. Saving a turkey should bring feelings of deep enlightenment, according to them. I feel like they glossed over whether my rescue turkey was supposed to be ALIVE or not. That part was definitely not specified in any of the literature. It might be headless and dead, but really, I’m still preventing my turkey from being eaten on Thanksgiving. You’d think it could show a LITTLE gratitude.
They claim turkeys are really affectionate pets, but this one just seems to lay in the same spot. It doesn’t graze, it doesn’t cluck. I’ll admit, I was initially excited when it leaked a whole bunch of pink water everywhere. “Awww,” I thought. “It’s showing submissive behavior by urinating, poor traumatized guy.” But then I learned that turkeys don’t do that, and also, the juices are attracting a lot of flies.
I’m not saying I feel like I did the wrong thing by sparing a turkey the horrors of being a Thanksgiving. But shouldn’t I feel better than this? I feed it mixed grain and corn and turkey treats daily, but it still doesn’t have a face. Maybe turkeys don’t like living alone? I noticed the grocery store has a great deal on game hens right now. Maybe a few lil’buddies will help cheer-up my turkey? A whole little pen of critters – death and rotting not withstanding – should be a perky sight.
Nevertheless, I can’t wait to showcase my turkey friend on Thanksgiving. Just as my family is preparing to sit down to our meal of ethically sourced traditional foods, I’ll take them on a quick tour of my thriving turkey paddock, and we can check and see if he’s still dead or has finally come alive in gratitude for my extreme selflessness. And then we’ll go eat our Thanksgiving duck because no one gives a shit about THOSE guys.