Have you ever seen a wild turkey? The ones that are still strutting splendidly. roaming around the wild spots of our beloved nation, the ones who are still hunted -- the turkeys Ben Franklin so admired? The Kougar is beyond grateful at her spare sightings of these magnificent wild fowls. Yes, she squealed with elated delight, clapped her paws, as they crossed the gravel road in front of her, several of them, like a small herd headed from one small wooded section to another strip of woods where a tiny stream flows.
The Kougar had heard others wax poetic on this great American bird, viewed photos in the wildlife mags -- however, dear Big Kitties, it's not the salivating same. It is just not the same dinner. Just as the domestic white gobble gobble is not the same dinner the pilgrim's enjoyed.
No, not the same as hunting the real wild turkey for another precious sighting.
Wild turkeys own a regal and strong bearing, how they stand, how they move -- and how they flow vigorously and purposefully together.
The wiley birds so difficult to hunt with musket and powder, or bow and arrow, according to our nation-building ancestors.
The Kougaress misses spotting her wild turkeys, despite her roving gaze, her keen stalking eye. She worries about their welfare.
May the Divine so protect them, their abundance demands we enjoy a wild turkey dinner in a sacred keeping of nature's balance.
Perhaps a pouring of Wild Turkey in the egg nog...?
Wild Turkey kisses from the Kougar
No comments:
Post a Comment