A Chicken-Pluckin' Crud War?

As you know, I'm a chicken-pluckin' dog when the opportunity arises. Losing a few feathers helps to teach the wayward hens the boundaries of their part of the farm, air conditions them in the summer, and it's just plain fun. For me, anyway. The Family is not too fond of bare-bottom chickens, and I guess the chickens are a little embarrassed by the whole thing, too, but I just can't seem to help myself. That is, until today...

When I saw this fellow strolling across the yard, I thought at first someone had super-sized one of the guinea hens. But no, this guy was much taller. And heavier. My Boy says it is a wild turkey and they are not to be messed with. He sure didn't have to warn me twice about that. When a bird stands taller than me, it's a sure sign that it deserves a little respect. This is just a young tom, but still, it might be wise to pass on the feather plucking for now and try to be a nice neighbor. I'd hate to be flogged by the likes of that!

If you recall, I also got into a bit of trouble when I found something delightful to roll in and brought the essence home with me. I got a bath for my effort. Then look what happened. My Boy, My Girl and some of their friends went to an event called a Crud War. They came home looking like they had roached around in a whole lot of things, like mustard, ketchup, flour, egg, and waffle syrup. Did they get into trouble and get drug by the collar to the bathtub? Noooooo, they got their picture taken. Go figure. Sometimes the rules are a little hard to figure out around here. Now, if we could just come up with a way to combine chicken plucking with crud wars, then count me in!

~Tell