Married Life: Turkey Hunting

THIS MARRIED LIFE - TURKEY HUNTING

I don't know what it is that would cause an otherwise perfectly reasonable man to want to get up and kill something. Especially distressing is the fact that he's sitting in front of me.

"Turkey season is upon us!" he bellowed excitedly from across the dinner table. He was burying himself in a newspaper.

"Yes, dear" I said

"Aren't you excited? Isn't this exciting?" he asked.

"I'll be sure to get some from the supermarket, dear."

"What?" he looked surprised. "Oh, no no no no! I wasn't talking about dinner!" he looked disapproving, as if I should know how to read his thoughts by this time.

"No?" I asked. "What are you talking about, then?"

He looked very happy, as if a child has just gotten a bright, new shiny new toy. "I'm talking about turkey HUNTING season!"

This stopped me. "But dear, you've never hunted before!"

"Doesn't matter! Hunting is a perfectly natural act for us men!"

I could only stare at disbelief. Something, somehow had turned my beloved husband into some raging maniacal turkey murderer. And if I know my husband, he’d do it, too. Once he set his mind on something, there's no stopping him.

"Listen to this!" He was oblivious to my stare. "According to this ad, the big hunting store downtown is having 50% off on all related hunting items. This includes not only rifles, but also clothing and all hunting related items. So, we can stock up! I wonder what kind of turkey camo they have up there?” On, and on he kept warbling on.

I dearly love my husband, but sometimes I want to kill him.

<hr>

"Wow, look at those things, bright and shiny!" my husband was looking at the rows of murder weapon designed to terminate the life of turkeys everywhere without prejudice. That's it. It's official. My husband: Turkey Mass Murderer.

We were browsing on the rifle section on the back of the store, HUNTING TOWN, a big local outdoorsy type store, that contrary to its name, stocks not only hunting gears, but also archery, fishing, clothing, camping stuff. Hunting is the predominant aim of this store, though. I knew it as soon as we walked through the front door and see diorama of a deer being poached, ahem, hunted by a father and son hunting from their house shaped tent.

"They're just rifles, dear. Can we move on?" I asked. I'm not at all comfortable being seen in the proximity of the murdering tools.

"Don't be silly. We're here to hunt turkeys, aren't we?" My husband, the steaming train-wreck. "Let's get some rifles!"

"You don't need more than one, do you?" I asked. "In fact, you don't need more than a camera, do you? Let's get a nice digital camera. That way, I can use it too!" Okay, I admitted it. I was trying to steer my husband away from killing those poor birds.

"Non-sense." He completely ignored me. "Let's talk to the clerk. I'm sure he'll be happy to sell us a couple of rifles!"

"I don't think that's a good idea." Wait a minute. A couple of rifles? I have to become a turkey murderer, TOO?

"Excuse me, can we get some help here?" My husband called a clerk. Young and spotty face. Inexperienced hired help, by the look of him. Probably hired him out of school and hastily trained. This may work to my advantage.

"Yes, sir," the boy clerk responded politely. "What can I do for you?"

"We'd like to look at a couple rifles. For turkey hunting." My husband said.

"For turkey hunting?" The boy asked, unsure in his voice. "Do you mean to shoot to kill the turkeys?"

I saw my chance and grabbed it. "Oh, no, not really." I said. "We don't really want to kill the turkeys. Just to hunt them, really." He looked at me expectantly. "Just to wound them and take pictures with camera."

"My wife is just kidding." My husband said.

"Ma'am?" the clerk boy said. "You don't want to hurt the turkeys. That's animal cruelty." As if killing them is any better. "It's better to just kill them out right." This is so not good. "To prolong animal suffering is very cruel and not at all in accordance to hunting pathos." Oh, so now I'm the bad guy?

"Anyway, we'd like to look at a few rifles." my husband said.

"Oh, no. You don't want these." the clerk boy said. Huh? Didn't you say to kill them outright? "You want those shotguns over there", he pointed to the other end of the aisle. "Those would be perfect for turkey hunting."

"Oh, thank you." My husband said. Well, I was successful in derailing the conversation from buying a rifle. I just didn't expect that it would involve shredding my dignity, and got turned over to the shotgun session. I'm pretty sure the clerk boy hated me. What a mad woman! Can you imagine it? Wanting to HURT a turkey instead of snuffing the life out of these poor birds! Away from me, you mad woman! On to the shotgun section for you! You're not good enough to purchase a rifle from me!

"May I help you?" the man behind the shotgun counter inquired.

"We'd like to go turkey hunting. Can you set us up?" My husband said.

"Certainly. We have a selection of shotguns here for your consideration." The man was smooth. Too smooth for a simple woman like me to handle. If he was any smoother, I may just dump my husband and marry him.

"Excuse me," my husband said, "But why shotguns? Why not rifles?"

"You don't want to hunt turkeys with rifles. That is a fact." The clerk was eyeing my husband carefully. "Perhaps you were planning to shoot the turkey on the heart?"

"Sure, why not?" my husband said. "It will kill them quick, right?"

"Oh, you don't want to do that." the clerk said. "It'll ruin too much meat." My husband looked at him with a puzzled expression. "The point of turkey hunting isn't a trophy, but to put meat on the table. You don't want to lose half the turkey just by killing it."

"We can get turkey from the supermarket." I said.

The clerk smiled. Then he smiled some more, very charmingly this time. I swooned, or at least I think I did. "Ma'am, we have these shotguns, so you can kill them without ruining any of the meat at all!"

"Oh?" my husband inquired. "How can you do that?"

"Shoot at the neck!" The clerk said. "They have very long neck. It's easy to shoot them." He was smooth as butter. I'm falling in love! He can say anything, and I'm his.

"Yes, they have very long neck" my husband admitted. "But it's like shooting a rope."

"Indeed, it is," the clerk said, "But that is why we use shotguns. We don't use slugs. We use pellets. Aim at the base of the neck, and a few are sure to hit the neck. 4 or 5 pellets would hit the neck bone and the turkey would be down immediately"

"That's a humane kill." said my husband. A HUMANE kill? Is there such a thing? My husband, the steaming train wreck.

"Indeed, it is." said the clerk. This is a mad world we live in. Either that or I am the lone mad woman.

"So, let us get some then. Maybe you have something for my wife, too?" my husband said.

The clerk nodded. "Absolutely. Hunting is not limited to just men. In fact, there was a father daughter hunting team just the other day. I set them up right. Right now, they are happily hunting together. I'll be right back." He went and got some shotguns.

"Did you hear that?" My husband was excited. "Father daughter hunting team! I bet that's what we'll get!"

"I am not a child, and I am not a hunter!" I said.

"Well, never mind then," my husband said. "I'm sure he'll come up with something."
The clerk came back with a couple of shotguns. "That's side by side, and that's over under." he declared. Well that was obvious. One shotgun has the tubes side by side, and the other has the tubes over and under.

"One is bigger than the other." My husband said.

"One is 12 gauge, and the other is 20 gauge." the clerk said.

"So, I take it, I'd get the 12 gauge?" I asked. Always the women get the smaller gun.
The clerk smiled disarmingly, "I suppose you can do that, but I was thinking that you should get the 20 gauge." Oh, dear me. Let me divorce my husband and marry you! "20 gauge, being smaller is what is called women's gun." Ok, never mind. I'll just keep my husband for now.

"Why is 20 gauge smaller?" asked my husband. He asked it, not me. Even though that question was burning in my mind, too.

"It's the size of the shots. They measure it by how many they can fit into a certain diameter. Thus the smaller the size, the more they can fit, and the higher the number." The clerk explained beautifully, but I'm immune to his charms, now.

"So, I should take the 12 gauge?" My husband asked.

"It's a man's gun." The clerk said. "Yes, sir."

My husband picked up the big side by side. He hefted it, and smiled. "Good balance!" he said.

"Oh, yes. It's our favorite seller!" the clerk said. They always push the ones on sale. No wonder it's their favorite seller!

My husband examined the shotgun carefully. "There is no loading mechanism." My husband can be so stupid sometimes. Of course there is loading mechanism. Or else, how else are you going to shoot it?

"The shells are ejected automatically." The clerk said. "You load it manually." Alright, it's official. Me, the mad woman, is an idiot.

"So, there are only 2 shots?" my husband asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any that has more than 2 shots?"

"Of course." The clerk smoothly went back to get another shotgun.

"Honey, why don't you take the other shotgun and see if you like it?" my husband asked.

"No, dear." I said, "I don't want to shoot anything."

"But we're going to hunt together," my husband said. "You need a shotgun!"

"I'll just wait beside you for you to do your manly hunt." I want no part of the hunt.

"Alright," he said, "You can just de-feather the turkey and cook it then." That part I definitely DO NOT WANT.

"I suppose it'll have lots of feather. Does it mean it will have ticks?" I asked.

"I'm sure you can get rid of any ticks when you gut the turkey." my husband said. Wait. I have to gut the turkey, too? Headline News Flash: Man-wife go hunting. Man kills turkey. Wife cleans and cooks. I dearly love my husband, but sometimes I want to kill him.

"Here we are," The clerk returned, thereby preventing homicide that was about to happen in the shotgun section. "This here is a Remington 870." [Author's Note: I'm not being compensated by Remington.] "Very popular shotgun. Very versatile. People have used these forever, from hunting, to police work, to home defense."

My husband took it happily. He beamed. I knew this was it. This was the shotgun. "How much?" I asked. There's only one defense possible. If it cost more than a big flat screen TV, we'd get that TV instead and watch my husband the couch potato yelling at footballer on TV, instead of roaming the woods murdering turkeys.

Time: 1 hour
Words: 1948.

<hr>

"Look, honey, these would be perfect for you!" My husband was eyeing some miniskirt camo. I didn't know these things even exist.

"No dear, I like my pants better." I said. My husband and I were roaming in the clothing section. Or should I say, the clothing jungle section. Camo this, camo that. Camo canteen, camo flashlight, camo pen, camo knife. About the only thing not camo are the price tags. They're like beacons saying "Sale! Sale! Sale!" and "Buy Me!"

"How about these, then?" He was holding up camo underwear.

"Why would you want that? You'd be wearing it under your clothes. No one would see it." I asked.

"I think the point of these underwear is to wear it on the outside." He said.

Oh. Wow. I don't believe it. "What do you mean wear your underwear outside? It's underwear!"

"You know, like, Superman!" my husband said. Right. Superman. Wearing camo underwear. Why didn't I think of that? "Or maybe Supergirl, with her camo miniskirt and undies."

"Are you out of your mind?" Sometimes I wonder if my husband is sane. I mean, he's sane most of the time, but at times like this? All bets are off!

"Well, just pick the one you like, then. Maybe they have camo dresses." my husband said.

"Why would one wear a dress when hunting?" I said.

"I don't know." admitted my husband. "Maybe it's the same reason people wear miniskirt and camo undies. Very sexy."

I tried to imagine some pretty young thing, wearing camo miniskirt and undies, going a hunting with her boyfriend. I tried to imagine, a pair of legs, moving around tip-toeing around the bush, and nothing else was visible, due to camo. I think that maybe some big cats would see those magic moving legs as food source, and start to gnaw on them. I think maybe the pretty girl would then let out some blood-curling scream. Maybe I really am the mad woman who would try to imagine such thing.

"No, dear," I said, "It wouldn't be sexy at all." It would be really gruesome. Headline News Flash: Lion Gnawed on Autonomous Moving Legs. I really have to stop watching those horror movies.

"Well, how about this one then?" My husband asked.

"I really don't see why we should get any. What's wrong with our existing clothes?"

"They're not hunting clothes."

"People have been hunting for a lot longer than camo lines."

"Yes." my husband said. "They wear ghillie suit."

"Ghillie suit?" I am not familiar with the term.

"You sew branches and leaves to your clothing. That's a ghillie suit."

"You say it like it's a swamp thing."

"Oh, something like those over there." my husband pointed to a corner where they carry a bunch of suits all with seaweed sewn haphazardly on the surface. In fact, they were exactly like the swamp thing.

I'm trying to imagine hunters moving through the bush, wearing these suits, hunting deer, or turkey, or whatever. It's like an old monster movie, where the innocent deer would just happily do what deer related activity that deer like to do, and then these monster swamp thing creatures would come by, walking stealthily. It'd be like the monsters would slowly gather zombie-like, and surround this poor deer before they pounced on the deer. Then they eat the deer raw, while it was still alive. The swamp thing is feasting on the deer, and I really, really have to stop watching all these horror movies.

"Why would you want to look like that?" I asked.

"So that the turkey won't see me. Won't see us" my husband corrected.

"I'm not wearing any of these monstrosities." I said. "Do you really want me to look like the swamp thing?"

"That's the whole point." my husband said. "It's so that people won't see you!"
Admittedly, my husband meant well. However, I'm having trouble understanding why looking like the swamp thing would cause people to look the other way. I thought I'd be weird looking like that, sticking out like a sore thumb. On second thought, maybe that's why people would look the other way.

A store clerk was coming. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes," my husband said. "We’re looking for some good camo clothes for turkey hunting."

"Well, you're at the right place." she said. Obviously we're at the right place. We're right in the middle of camo jungle! Maybe she's not too bright.

"Any suggestion?"

"Yes, indeed, I do." the clerk said happily. "See those? Those are very popular with hunters, and they're 50% off!"

"Are they any good?" my husband, the tactless one, asked.

"They're very popular this time of year. We always sell them by the hundreds!" she answered.

Of course, they sell them by the hundreds. Not only those are on sale, but they always push them out whenever they can. I bet she's making a hefty commission out of them.
"How much are they?" I asked. I'm still hoping that the price will be enough to get us a flat-screen TV.

"Did I mention they're 50% off?" she said. "It's a great deal! Really, you will never get these kind of deals any other time of the year!" My heart sank. "They're really, really cheap right now!" There goes my hope for getting a flat screen TV. "In fact, if you buy them and then find out that you can get them cheaper anywhere else, just come back to us and we'll cheerfully refund the difference!" Okay, you made your point. Stop pitching your sales and plunging knives to my heart!

"So, what do you think dear?" my husband asked me. This is just formality, you see. When I see his eyes shines as brilliantly as those, there's no stopping him.

"Oh, whatever you want, dear." I resigned. "It's just that I wish these come in color other than green."

"Oh, we have orange, too." The clerk said, oblivious to my feelings. "They're over there. Safety orange."

"Looks ugly." my husband said.

"I still think we're better off just wearing our existing clothing." I said. I was looking at the sales clerk. Doubtless she would protest as her commission would be less.

"Oh, you can wear whatever you want," she cheerfully said. That was unexpected. Maybe she wasn't paid on commission.

"Really?" I asked.

"Sure." she said. "You're going turkey hunting, right?" My husband and I both nodded. "Then it doesn't matter what clothes you wear."

"Why is that?" asked my husband. I think it only makes sense. Turkeys are birds and birds are stupid. They can't tell one clothing from another.

"Although turkeys can tell different clothing," the clerk said, "you'll be hunting from the blind. So, it really doesn't matter what clothes you wear!"

Oh. So turkeys aren't stupid after all, unlike me.

"We'd still like to get some of these clothes." said my husband. I really don't see the need for expensive clothing when we can wear whatever we want. I can think of many different reasons why we should save our money and not buy a thing. However, I wisely shut my mouth up.

"Of course," she beamed. "Just get anything you want! I'll be happy to help you."

"Thank you."

"Just one thing, though," she continued hesitantly. Here it is, the catch. The bad news. The one thing that cannot be said for it will cause the sale to be missed, yet must be because of legality. I wonder what'll she say?

"Don't wear blue." she said.

"Don't wear blue?!" I blurted out. "Why not?"

"The other hunters may mistake you for a tom and shoot you."

"THAT'S IT!" I declared to my husband. "WE'RE GETTING OUT OF HERE, RIGHT NOW!!!"

Time: 1 hour
Words: 1338
Total words: 3286

<hr>

"Honey, how does this sound?" asked my husband. He was scratching a board with a stick.

"It sounds like you're scratching a board with a stick." I said.

"But doesn't it also sounds like a turkey scratching tree trunks?" he asked.

"I don't know." I said. "I have never heard a turkey scratching trees before." Come to think of it, I've never heard a live turkey doing anything at all. They have always come to me gutted, cleaned, and wrapped in plastic.

"What do you think?" he asked the clerk behind the counter.

"Oh, that sounds great!" he said. Well, he's trying to sell these things, so of course that what he'd say. "You just need to work on the rhythm a bit. Think of turkey. It wouldn't maniacally scratch like hell. It would scratch, then look, then scratch, then look."

"Oh, that's right." my husband said. "How's this." He scratched the board monotonically, then paused, then scratched the board monotonically, then paused, then scratched the board monotonically. He looked to the clerk for guidance.

I don't think turkeys are so methodical, you know? It's like, okay, let's sing a song. Or do a dance. One two three, everybody scratch! One two three, everybody stop. Turkeys don't dance, do they?

"Yep, that sounds about right." the clerk said. "Would you be interested in some pipes, also?"

"What about those pipes?" my husband asked.

"Oh, those pipes are terrific." the clerk said. "Here, let me show you." The clerk then picked up a pipe from behind the counter, and started making turkey noises. Oh, he was good! I was impressed. He was doing turkey's equivalent of Beethoven's Fifth. Or maybe some local country square dancing. Whatever it was, it was catchy. The rest of shop patrons stopped to listen to his piping his turkey song.

I doubt that my husband can do that. It takes some serious skill to do so, I'm sure. Had my husband tried to do it, I'm sure he would fail miserably and make a fool of himself in front of everybody. This did not, of course, deter him at all.

"Let me try that!" my husband said. He was just like a child with his bright new toy. Ugly noises came out when he tried it.

"That was a good approximation of deer in the heat!" the clerk said. "Will you be doing deer hunting along with turkey hunting?"

"No." my husband said. "Let me try again." This time some bop-bop noise came out of it. Turkeys don't make bop-bop noise either, I don't think.

"That's a great way to attract a hog!" the clerk was jubilant. "You're a natural at this!" Obviously, we weren't hunting hogs, either.

"Well," my husband said. "That didn't come out like I planned." You think?

"That's okay," the clerk said reassuringly, "You actually did better than most people. Most people would try it and it came out like they're playing kazoo!" Which is what it is, to think about it. It's nothing more than a glorified kazoo.

"Does that mean we can get kazoo, instead?" I asked. We can save a few dollars.

"Not really," the clerk said. "Obviously you can sing using a kazoo, but there's no way a turkey would approach you. You need to act like a turkey and this is optimized for the experience." Oh, the word optimized came out. It's all so specialized these days. Still, I have to admit, my husband needed all the help he can get if he wants to get any turkey to come within shooting distance.

"So, just sing a turkey song?" I was complimenting his skill at playing his turkey song.

"Oh, you can do that," he carefully said. "But I think acting like a hen in the heat will be better in attracting the toms to come to you."

"So, how does it work?" my husband said. "I mean, how does a hen in the heat sound like?"

I really want to know, too. I mean, there is something magical about how a middle age male clerk pretending to be a hen in the heat. That would be something to watch. Alas, he disappointed me.

"Oh, that." he said. "We have a DVD here that explains everything all about turkey hunting. It's very popular, and I should say that you should get it before you go out hunting. It's very comprehensive."

"Would that covers all the tools?" asked my husband.

"Absolutely!" the clerk said. "In fact, if you buy the turkey hunting kit, you get 50% off!"

"Then we'll get the whole kit!" My husband said. I stared with disbelief.

"Are you really going to use the whole kit?" I asked.

"Sure." my husband said. "The DVD covers all, doesn't it?"

"It sure does," the clerk said. "And on section 4 on the DVD menu, you get to see all the turkeys behavior shown, including mating dance as acted by the show narrators. It really does explain everything."

I looked at the pictures of the person narrating the DVD. Imagine a big fat bearded pot bellied beer drinker. Now imagine that person scratching the ground, doing his best impression of mating hen in the heat. Not pretty. All I can think of was flop, flop, flop there goes his belly. Flop, flop, flop let's pop the turkey. I suppose it can be a dance of some sort, but come on, a grown adult playing turkey? I shudder at the thought.
My husband is somehow oblivious to all this. He happily added the kit to the cart, all grinning madly like a possessed child and his toys. Do all grown men become children when going a hunting?

Time: 30 minutes
Words: 955
Total words: 4241

<hr>

"Honey," my husband said. "You're being too noisy."

"I didn't say anything." I said. We were sitting on the ground, next to a tree in some hunting ground. We wore full camo, and even our face was masked. Either that, or slather some evil, icky black paste on our faces. I chose the clean version. No doubt that we looked like two pairs of disembodied eyes to all who looked at us.

"The noise of you flipping the pages is too loud." he said.

Well, pardon me. I had brought a cheap novel with me to read while we were hunting. Hunting, it turns out, is like watching football on TV, except there's no popcorn, beer, or even football. There's no TV. "Sorry." I said, not really meaning it. "I'll try to be quiet when I turn the page."

"Why do you bring that book, anyway?" he said. "We're supposed to be hunting."

"You're supposed to be hunting." I said. "I'm just here to keep you company."

"Well, you're scaring all the turkeys." he said. I wonder how he came to the conclusion, knowing that we haven't seen any turkey all day.

"I don't see any." I said. "Are you sure there are turkeys here?" It is possible that our guide had placed us in the wrong place. Our hunting guide had assured us that there will be enough hunting spot for everybody. Unfortunately, there were more participants than he anticipated. A few of us had to go hunting without the blinds, and we drew the short straw.

"I'm sure there is." he said. "We can hear the turkeys gobbling, can't we?"

"It may be other hunters, practicing their gobblers." I said. My husband, despite repeated attempts of gobbling, has yet to master the skills necessary to sound like a turkey.

"No way." he said. "They're too good to be human made!"

"They don't sound too good to me." I said.

"What do you know about turkey gobbling?" he said.

"I know what's on the DVD." I said. "I watched it with you." And we watched it again and again. Tried to drum the info into our brain. Except, he got to be the turkey, as I refused to act, or even sound like one.

"Well, this one doesn't sound fake like the one in the DVD." He had a point, there. The one on the DVD sounded cheerful. The ones we heard were short and halting. Confused sounding. Like, maybe, a turkey walking around hunters should be.

"How do we know for sure?" I asked.

"We don't," he said, "if you keep being noisy with your page turning."

I wanted to tell him that our speaking voice has gotten louder than simple page turning. But I didn't want to give up reading my book either. So, I made the simple choice of keeping quiet.

After a few more hours, or so it seemed, I finished my book. I put it aside and started to look around.

"Well?" I asked. "Did you get any turkey yet?"

"No, I haven't!" he said. "You would be the first person to know if I have any!"

"Thank you dear," I said, "for keeping me informed." What's with his tone of voice? I would think that he doesn't enjoy this.

"You're welcome, honey." he said. "Gun shot has a way to tell you I got one." Oh, right. He and his 870 shotgun. Pump action. Dirty Harry style.

"I don't think it's right to shoot the turkeys." I said.

"That's what hunting is all about, honey." he said. "We're here to prove man's dominance over animals."

"That doesn't mean you have to kill them." I said.

"Of course, I do." he said. "How else are we going to prove we're better?"

"You could let them go." I said.

"Nonsense. We'll shoot us some turkeys."

"It's not fair."

"It's very fair." he said. "We're giving them some sporting chances." Oh, sporting chances. What that basically means is that we, the hunters, were giving them, the turkeys, some sporting chances to outrun pellets being shot out of the shotgun. That's what sporting chances is all about.

"Well, maybe I just make some noise here so the turkeys know we're here."

"Don't do that!" he said. "You'll just scare away the turkey." Exactly. That's my point. We should send out smoke signals to the turkey so that they know that their life is forfeit if they even dare to come within 100 yards of the tree we're leaning against.

"You'll just scare the turkeys out of the county," continued my husband. "Therefore, I should do it." Huh? That doesn't make sense. He wants to scare the turkey out of the country?

Then my husband did something totally unexpected. He took our turkey noise making kit and started to fiddle with it. Sounds of scratching board can be heard. I saw some bushes stirred.

"Be careful, dear." I said. "You don't want to make other hunters to shoot this way." Considering that I had not heard any shot all day, it is possible that other hunters are desperate and will shoot at any turkey noise at all.

"Not too worry." he said. "The other hunters are miles away."

"The other hunters in our group are miles away." I said. "There may be other hunters outside our group." We were, after all, in a public hunting land, instead of private one.

"Well, I don't think there's any other hunters here." he said. "Otherwise, we see some blinds."

"Blinds are camouflaged." I said. "That means we can't see them."

"We're fine." he said. He started to fiddle with the pipe. Some snorting noises came out of it. "How's that?" he asked.

Not at all sounding like a turkey. "That's fine, dear." Sounds more like an angry hog trying to destroy all competition.

"Let's try a different tack." He then tried all sort of noises that was featured on the DVD. It was like there was a big party on our tree and that all kinds of animals were invited. Still, the turkeys didn't come.

After a while, he gave up. All was quiet once more.

"So, what do you think?" I asked. "Do you think there'll be turkeys here?"

"Of course." he said. He said that? Despite not seeing anything for hours? Was he nuts? Wait a minute. Of course he was. That's why we're sitting in the middle of nowhere instead of in our comfy sofa at home, watching TV.

"Have you seen anything yet?" I asked.

"Nope. Nothing at all." he said.

I wish he can be this patient at home. At home, it was do this, do that. Never a moment's peace. Yet here he was, sitting under a tree, not doing anything for hours. Meanwhile, I'm getting bored silly. Where's my afternoon tea? Soap? I need my TV!

I fidgeted, and took the turkey pipe. May as well do something to alleviate my boredom.

"Watch it that you don't scare the turkeys!" my husband said. Thank you for the note of confidence. I was being sarcastic.

I blew out my vengeance, trying to scare the turkeys away. "Gobble gobble gobble!" came out the noise from the pipe.

Immediately, ten toms poked their heads from the shrubs. They were looking at me, obviously hungry for some natural activity for what they think was a hen. I looked at ten pairs of avian eyes. Then I looked at my husband. He was transfixed at the spot. His eyes were bulging out at the ten toms in the shrubs.

"Hyaaa!!!" he screamed like a mad warrior. His shotgun was instantly at his shoulder and he shot those turkeys again and again. He racked the shotgun, pulled the trigger, racked the shotgun, pulled the trigger, as he ran down the forest, chasing all the turkeys that scattered as soon as my husband stood up. I can only stared in disbelief.

There, the hunt ended.

<hr>

"Hmm-mmm." my husband was stuffing his mouth. "Great turkey, honey!" The man was obviously hungry from all that hunting.

"Yes, dear." I said. "More Butterball?" We had stopped by a supermarket on the way back.

"Sure honey." he said. "What a great wife you are!" I beamed at his praise.

Of course, all the guys in our hunting group was not so appreciative when they found out that not one of the numerous turkeys got even so much as a scratch. They did, after all, got their turkeys. A few even claimed that the turkey was running so fast, they ran right into the shotgun. I have no doubt that those turkeys were running away from my husband.

The guide was appreciative, though. He promised that next time, he'd put in a blind. "Didn't think that there'd be enough turkeys in that area to justify a blind," the guide said. "But you obviously proved me wrong." He was kind enough to guarantee a spot on that blind, as guest of honor. Not that we would take advantage of it, if I have my say.

"When do you think we should go out again?" asked my husband.

"Hush." I said. "I'll think about it." Never, never, never, never, never! "I want to watch the TV for now. Thank God for DVR." as I settled down on our comfy couch, sipping strawberry milkshake, with cherry on top.

THE END.

Time: 1 hour
Words: 1572
Total Words: 5813