Mountain Home Guide
MY TURKEY HUSBAND
By Pamela A. Maurey

You’re awakened by the alarm Monday through Friday of the workweek at 5:15 a.m.

You look forward to sleeping in on Saturday. Not with a Turkey Husband.

Your husband goes turkey hunting on your “sleep-in Saturday.” You ask that he be really quiet since he will be arising at 3 a.m. He fulfills your desire and you never hear him leave. You’re sleeping the soundest, deepest sleep you’ve ever had, when the phone rings at 6:20 a.m. 

As soon as you groggily say, “Hello,” the energetic voice on the other end replies, “Hi honey, it’s me. I got a turkey! I got a turkey! I got a huge turkey!” 

As you adjust yourself to a semi-conscious state, you’re thinking “Why in the hell did I ever give him that cell phone for his birthday.” But you say: “That’s wonderful dear,

I’m proud of you.”

You are fully awake now. So much for sleeping in. You walk out of the bedroom, turn back and look at the cat still sleeping comfortably on the bed. You sigh and go make the coffee.

 It’s a beautiful spring day, so that makes up for the early wake-up call. You think about sitting in the sun for a few hours this morning, after the household chores are done, to work on a pre-summer tan. Not with a Turkey Husband. By the time chores are finished and the sun is up and warm enough for tanning, your Turkey Husband returns home, turkey in hand, and decides to take the prize bird to the taxidermist for mounting. Of course, this must be done right away since it is a fresh kill and you, of course, because of his reasoning, must accompany him on this journey.

“We must have this mounted!” he excitedly explains with hands and arms in full motion. “This gobbler weighs twenty-two pounds, has a nine-and-one-half-inch beard, and one-and five-eighths-inch spurs. I’d like to have him mounted gobbling from a tree limb. Taxidermists usually use a nice tree limb for the mount that can be hung on a wall.”

You envision the side of a tree coming out of the den wall with a turkey on it. Not a good vision.

While you’re being hurried along to leave for the taxidermist, your Turkey Husband makes yet another decision. We should pick up another load of firewood on our way back home. This is where all of your Turkey Husband’s intelligence shines through.

The trophy turkey, so recently slaughtered, must be handled with the utmost of extreme care before it gets to the taxidermist. Turkey Husband gently places it in a garbage bag, wraps the bag in a blanket and ever so carefully places it in the back of our Jeep Wrangler. Its enclosed back ensures the turkey won’t get blown about as it might if it were in the back of our Chevy truck.

Now pay attention here. Remember that we’re supposed to pick up a face cord of wood on our way home. We are now a mile or so away from the house on the start of our journey.  You say, “Excuse me, dear. I know the turkey is resting comfortably, but how are we going to get a face cord of wood in the back of the Wrangler?”

Turkey Husband replies with, “Oh darn,” and we turn around, go back to the house, and get the truck. Now the prize bird has to ride in the back of the truck, heaven forbid.  (You’re surprised you’re not asked to ride in the back so the turkey could ride in the cab.)  Now the turkey must be constantly observed through the back window throughout the whole forty-mile trip to the taxidermist.

We arrive. The turkey is skinned to perfection. The carcass is placed in a garbage bag and handed back. The turkey carcass cannot ride in the back of the truck now because it’s sunny and getting warmer as the day progresses. It’s placed between your feet on the floorboard with the A/C aimed strategically on it to keep both the carcass and my feet frozen. Hindsight reveals the cooler should have been brought along.  The mission now is a sixty-mile trip in the opposite direction of the compass for the firewood.

On the way back up the highway, Turkey Husband sees a new, packaged bed comforter in the middle of the highway.  He slams on the brakes and pulls off to the side to get it.

“What a find,” Turkey Husband says. 

You reply gently, “Oh, honey. I don’t think we need to run out into the middle of the four-lane to retrieve a comforter. We have at least six at home now.”

Turkey Husband believes he has found the bed comforters of all bed comforters and cannot be told otherwise. We slowly and carefully back up along the side of the highway as tractor-trailers and other vehicles swerve around the comforter. All clear now except for one last car that hits the comforter, tearing the bag, and leaving black tire marks on its contents. Turkey Husband runs out onto the highway, safely retrieves the comforter, brings it back, and hands it to you. For the rest of the trip you are seated with a turkey carcass that is starting to seep body fluids (that can only be determined by a wildlife biologist) from its bag onto the floor mat and a fresh roadkill comforter. Continuing on the way for firewood, we stop at Arby’s for lunch. No problems there except for the ten-minute wait at the drive-through.

We finally arrive at the farm where we purchase our firewood. Not only is it a good deal to buy firewood from these folks, it’s worth the drive just to see their farm. It is always the most well-kept and friendly place. You’ve never seen a farm so clean. They raise young steers, a few goats and have three Belgian horses. Just your kind of place. They direct us to the barn where they had their wood stacked. With a full load, we then head on home.

We need to make a stop at the store on our way home for the “exact” kind of spiedie sauce for marinating the turkey breast, providing it’s still good after riding around with us all day. We find the “exact” kind of sauce Turkey Husband requires and continue toward home, passing a newly opened greenhouse. You make Turkey Husband stop by threatening to throw the turkey carcass out the window. He obliges and you purchase a couple of plants for hanging baskets to hang from the deck.

Mission accomplished, we’re home. Turkey husband sets off to clean the turkey; you set off to air out the roadkill comforter on the clothesline and then go into the house. You check on the pets and find a mouse that probably was a victim of a feline satanic-drowning ritual in the water dish. You take it outside and place it in the woods for a semiproper burial.

Turkey Husband needs a nap now because he’s been up since 3 a.m. You read and then make meat loaf for supper (the turkey is marinating for tomorrow night’s supper).

We have a nice supper and watch Golden Horse.  Absolutely a marvelous movie. One that will keep you thinking into the next day and then some. A must see.

Time to go to bed now. It’s been a long, interesting day.  While you lie in bed reading and Turkey Husband brushes his teeth, the cat brings us another prize mouse. This one is still alive and escapes to run around the house. Turkey Husband asks me to capture it. You do so then gently release it outside to freedom versus going to the taxidermist for mounting.

You tell Turkey Husband “good night” and sigh in relief knowing you can sleep in tomorrow. In our state, you can’t hunt turkeys on Sunday.