I went to the dentist this morning – actually a pleasant experience. On the way home, driving up the Taconic, I saw a man of about 50 in an army green jackets, with a sort of bushy white beard walking along the left side of the road. As I passed, half-expecting him to crook his thumb, I realized he was carrying a wild turkey presumably deceased, by it’s ankles (is that the correct word for it when it’s a turkey?) with his arm stretched away from his body. Not in visible distaste or anything. He just looked like he wanted to keep his fatigue jacket “clean.”

That’s weird I thought, then rounded a bend about 150 feet up the road and saw a somewhat aged  diarrhea green Cavalier on the right side of the road. Leaning against the passenger side rear bumper was a stocky woman, probably in her low 40s, with black, teased up hair that bespoke the high 80s. She had sparkly jeans (and man, they killed a lotta rhinestone trees to bedazzle those designer denims) and was seriously unattractive.

And she was clearly looking back toward the turkey man, like she was waiting for him.

What was this, a guilty accidental turkey-homicide, and I witnessed the fallout. Maybe they were considering a proper burial. Or was this willful and premeditated turkeycide? Did he catch site of that handsome bird and line it up with his hood ornament? Maybe these were the makings of a romantic Valentine’s Day feast.