RIP, Mr. Gobbles.

Last week The Hubby called with some tragic news. The delightful, sassy turkey that had been taunting hunters with his almost constant presence at the side of the road for the week prior had apparently been hit by a car. I was disappointed and sad, but unsurprised. I had admired his confidence greatly. Many conversations with The Hubby regarding the fabulous fowl had taken place during rides to and from town. He'd alternate (the turkey, not The Hubby) between staring off into the distance at the side of the road, pecking at the ground, and glaring at unsuspecting motorists. His beady little eyes would follow you until you passed, and I swear that sometimes I could still feel his 1000-yard stare after I was home. I felt like he had really "seen some things" in his all-too-short life.

The night after I was informed of his demise, we had to go to town. The Hubby was concerned that I might be saddened by the cocky clucker's remains at the side of the road, so we waited until after dark to leave.

"I just can't believe Mr. Gobbles is gone."
"You gave him a last name?"
"Of course! Tom Gobbles."
"I thought you were calling him 'Jim." Is he 'Tom' now?"
"It's both. His name is Thomas Jimsen Gobbles."
"Really."
(Actually, I had forgotten that I was calling him Jim, so I made that part of his middle name. I wanted something that wasn't James, though, and thought Jimsen sounded regal. I later confessed this to The Hubby, much to his amusement.)

When we didn't see Mr. Gobbles by the side of the road that night, The Hubby sadly said, "Foxes probably dragged him off."
I replied, "He would have wanted that. It's very 'circle of life.' Mr. Gobbles would be happy to know that his remains went on to feed the fox's family... He wouldn't want to be wasteful."
*The Hubby, laughing* - "You think so?"
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he would've even been an organ donor if he knew that another turkey out there was in need of his, um, parts."
"Turkey surgery, huh?"
"It's ironic, the only one who could have pulled it off would have been Mr. Gobbles' uncle, but he's on vacation. Dr. Gobbles. That poor family can't catch a break."

At this point, we are both laughing our faces off. It has been decided that I should draw a picture of the vacationing Dr. Gobbles, featuring the floppy hat, cargo shorts or Hawaiian shirt, maybe sandals, and the necessary zinc oxide on his beak. And his boogie board, because although he's a daring doctor, he's not daring enough for a full surfboard. Maybe even his egg babies.

If I can ever remember to draw it, I'll try to post it. But I'm sure that my imagination is much better, and my skills in posting pictures or images on here may not be up to par. Mr. Gobbles' family deserves the best.