Dirty Little Secret

I live in a small, upper middle class town in northern New Jersey. We are surrounded by towns with bigger houses, better shopping and many more residents. I like it that way - we have less traffic and everyone recognizes us at the library and at the bank. Families head to the Dairy Queen on summer evenings, just like if we lived in a blip on an interstate in the mid-west. The Dale is not an exciting place, or an especially unique place, but it is cozy and comfortable.

AND we have a turkey. His name is Luke. He lives at the intersection by the library and the elementary school. Apparently his family died somewhere in the local nature preserve, so he left. Now he lives on the corner, distracting drivers all day long. I love the fact that a turkey strolls the streets of our suburban town like he owns them. According to an article in the town rag (er, paper), there have been fewer accidents and traffic incidents at the intersection since Luke took up residence.

I like living in a place where everyone is afraid to upset the turkey. Sadly, though, the powers that be have decided that Luke doesn’t belong on the corner. They are moving him to an acre of open land in a neighboring town (with bigger houses and more shopping, incidentally) and I am sad. He’s our turkey, darn it! He should stay in our town.

Of course, now that I think about it, it’s interesting that the Dale is paying to move a turkey to his own (free) parcel of land but if he were a person he’d probably be taken to county lock-up. Or he’d be shipped to the streets of the ghetto city in the next county. Regardless, I doubt they’d find him an acre to call his own.