The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #59418 Message #3460229
Posted By: Rapparee
01-Jan-13 - 10:10 PM
Thread Name: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
Subject: RE: BS: The Mother of all BS threads
All right, you asked for it! Just to show you that I AM the Master of All Creation here's one of my creations!!
Like most summer days, it was hot, sweaty, humid, and boring. There had been no rain for at least five or six days, the Fourth of July was past, the grass was brown, and all that there was to look forward to was school starting at the end of the August. Luckily, it was still July, so we still had some time to lay around and read and cut grass and play and go swimming and stuff.
Still, it was boring because we'd read all of the books we'd gotten from the library and the grass was cut and the weeding was done and we were tired of playing with each other and the swimming pool was closed.
"You know something?" said Tony one day. "This is really boring."
"We could have a fight," Ted suggested.
"Nah," I said, "we did that an hour ago and Mom said that if we did it again she'd Take Appropriate Action, and I don't want to find out what that means."
"Good thought," said Tony.
"Hey," said Ted, "let's go take a walk. Not a long one, like a hike or something, just a walk. We could go look around the southeast part of the northwest corner of the Swamp. We've never really looked around there much before."
"It's too hot," I said and Tony poured a whole glass of ice water down my back and said, "Not now, I bet!" and laughed and laughed and Ted joined him.
"Okay," I said resignedly, "let's go tell Mom we're going." And we did, and she just shook her head about my really wet back.
Off we went, a song in our hearts because the neighbors complained if we actually sang a song.
Once in the southwest part of the northwest corner of the Swamp we had to turn around because we were supposed to be in the southeast corner and naturally we blamed each other for getting us lost even though we really weren't. We just liked to blame things on each other.
Off we went in the southeast part of the northwest corner. It was very interesting, and Ted decided that we were probably the very first people who'd ever been in the part before. Tony disagreed.
"Why do you think that we're not the first?" queried Ted. "I think we are."
"Because," Tony explained, "it would be very unlikely that a section of land (even though it's Swamp) wasn't explored at least by the Indians. And I think I can say with some assurance that there are Certain Signs that indicate that we aren't the first people here."
"Oh yeah?!" exclaimed Ted. "What sort of signs do your eagle-like eyes see that would lead you to think that, pray tell?"
"Little things," said Tony. "The way the grass grows, for one."
"The contours of land, for another."
Ted sneered again, but a lot more so.
"The fence you're sitting on, which has a sign on it says 'Tuttle's Terribly Tender Turkeys' and a road leading through the gate over there, for still another."
"Oh," said Ted, not sneering at all. "Oh. This good old fence and the good old sign. Well, I don't think that anyone else has been here for a very, very long time though."
"Oh, I agree about that," said Tony.
"Come on, you two," I interrupted. "Let's go up this old road and see what this is all about." And Ted jumped down off the fence and we set out up the old, overgrown road.
Sure enough, it was an old farm. The barn was falling down and the house had already fallen into the cellar. We looked around, poking into this building and that. There were several long buildings that we finally figured out must have been where the turkeys were raised. Certain clues led us to conclude this, the most important ones being the signs that said "Turkey House One" "Turkey House Two" and so on.
And it was obvious that the farm had once raised turkeys! There were signs for Tuttle's Terribly Tender Turkeys all over the place. There were even signs on the roof of the farm's old outhouse (we didn't go in there)!
Finally, we sat down on a rickety old bench in the shade of an old tree.
"You know," Ted said, "I think that this place was once owned by a family named Tuttle."
"Brilliant, Sherlock," I commented. "Positively brilliant."
"And they raised turkeys here."
I turned to Tony and said, in awe, "His brilliance outshines the sun."
"And the turkeys got loose and grew to enormous size, like maybe as much as fifteen feet tall."
"You're nuts," Tony and I said together.
"Then what made those tracks over there?" asked Ted, pointing.
Sure enough, on the ground not more than twelve feet twelve inches away were a row of tracks that had to have been made by a gigantic bird, probably a turkey!
"Good thing they're going away from us," said Ted.
"Good thing they're going away from us," said Tony in agreement.
"Even better thing that they're really, really old," I said.
"Huh?" said Ted and Tony together.
"Sure. Look at them. They've turned to stone – they're fossilized!"
And sure enough, they were.
"Dinosaur footprints!" we said together in disbelief.
"Hmmm..." Tony hummed. "Maybe not, maybe not. Remember what Dr. Edward Hitchcock thought about these kinds of tracks."
"Who?" Ted and I queried.
"Dr. Edward Hitchcock, of Amherst College somewhere out East, like in Rhode Island or Vermont or somewhere else. He was a really top-notch scientist and when a local farmer brought him to see some tracks like these, Dr. Hitchcock said that he thought that they had been made by twelve-foot-high turkeys. And he collected a lot of footprints and became a Renowned Expert and always held that they were made by twelve-foot-high turkeys."
"Ah, just for the record, when was this?" I asked Tony.
"Around 1830, I think. But he lived a real long time! And he's very famous!"
Ted and I just shook our heads.
"OW!" shouted Tony.
"What's up with you?" I asked as he went "OW!" again.
"You pinched me. Hard!" he said.
"I did not! I was shaking my head in dis – OW! OW! Ted, cut that out!"
"Cut what OW! out?" asked Ted.
We were jumping around, slapping at whatever was pinching us or...and then I recognized it. We were being pecked!
"Hey, we're being pecked, not pinched!" I shouted.
"Well, it still hurts!" Ted yelled back. "So stop it!" And just then he was hit right in the face with a big ball of really squooshy mud!
"Whoa!" shouted Tony. "Let's get out of here!" And more balls of stinky, wet mud came flying at us!
We ran. We ran really fast, past the old turkey houses and past the old barn and past the old collapsed house and down the old overgrown road and out the gate and there we fell panting on the grass. The pecking had stopped and no more mud was being flung at us.
Slowly we got out breath back, and we walked over to a spring and had a long drink of cool water. Ted washed the nasty mud off his face and shirt and we set out for home.
When we got there, we asked Mom about Tuttle's Terribly Tender Turkeys. She explained that many, many years ago a family named Tuttle raised turkeys on a farm somewhere. They never told anyone where it was, because they wanted to keep their turkey-raising secrets secret. One day, they moved away, and the only reason they ever gave was that "the ghosts of the old turkeys wouldn't let us alone." And nobody had ever found their old farm, until we did, of course. And we didn't tell Mom or anyone because we felt that it was better that way.
Naturally, we talked about what had happened among ourselves. We even told Martha, who hadn't been there because she had been taking a course in Summer School, which we thought was a waste of summer. But she figured it out. She asked us a lot of questions, and finally we admitted that as we ran away we'd heard a sort of laughing "gobble gobble" sound around us. That made it clear to her that we had been attacked, like the Tuttles many years before, by poultrygeists.
It never stopped us from eating turkey, though.