A few summers ago we had a family of wild turkeys lay claim to our clearing in the woods. Mama, Papa, and 10 chilluns. Every morning around 7 they would all walk slowly uphill in front of the house, especially taking their time if you were sitting in the car attempting to go to work. Then every evening at 6 they'd "fly" down to our trees from our up-the-hill neighbor's field.

Now turkeys do not so much fly as they do crash thud. Not really good at aiming, either. When they cannonballed downhill and made contact with a tree limb, there would be leaves and feathers flying.

Mortimer, our big orange diabetic cat who was never much of a hunter (except for grasshoppers), would stare wide-eyed from the deck and Sabine ("Sheena, Queen of the Jungle"), well, you could just see her calculating how to get up to a big cross branch and what she'd do from there. (Keep in mind they're bigger than she is!)

I miss them, but it was great having them around for a season

Linn