As a turkey, I have mixed feelings about Christmas. On the one hand, I’ll get to be a significant part of the festivities, but on the other I’ll be leaving my brothers and sisters behind and all the friends I’ve grown up with.
Today is the day the farmer told us we would be picked out and carried away to our new homes. Not all of us, though; just the fattest and the healthiest looking. That suits me. I’ve been gobbling away for months – some might say I’ve even overdone it to judge by my bowlegs – and I’m now the biggest bird in the pen. Boy, I’m one proud turkey!
Ah, look! Some people are heading our way. They look to be decent, kindly folk, just the type I’d love to spend Christmas with.
I push my way to the front of the flock.
“Pick me, pick me,” I squawk, jumping up and down to gain their attention.
The farmer’s hand reaches out and grabs my neck, hoisting me high above the others.
Oh, joy of joys! I’m the first to be chosen!