Author’s Note:
To read this year’s Christmas-adjacent story, you must understand two things: the first is that SAFE has a resident turkey, and the second is that, while humans do exist in this story, they somehow do not witness the goings on.
All of the horses and humans at SAFE wish you a very happy holiday. And if you’re having turkey, please, keep it to yourself.
–
Thanksgiving came and went, just another 24 hours in the lives of the residents at SAFE, minus one turkey-shaped creature who allowed herself to feel the off-weighting that accompanies great relief.
She hadn’t been particularly worried, not until overhearing chatter of what would be gracing the dinner tables of a great number of volunteers. The first mention of turkey for dinner she was able to write off as a fluke, albeit a terrifying one, but the chorus of voices touting the importance of a certain white meat on the day of thanks grew in scope until she could not ignore it, and retreated to her roost.
Said roost was in a tree that oversaw the mare herd of Poppy, Moshi, and Mirana. Since installing herself there, she had made friends with these girls, and considered herself an honorary member of their group. Though they begrudged her for being able to leave whenever she chose, and often looked out with envious grumbles as she pecked amongst the tall pasture grass, they were happy to bring her under their wing, so to speak, as she was a great conversationalist, messenger, and, though she’d never admit it herself, quite the gossip. Indeed, she spent the entirety of her days wandering around the property, eavesdropping on conversations under the guise of hunting for grubs, and since the days grew short, her early roost time meant many dark hours to share with her herdmates all that she had encountered over the course of the day.
But in the week leading up to Thanksgiving, she hadn’t done much other than cluck worriedly, seeking whatever reassurances her friends were willing to give.
“They like you here,” Moshi said between mouthfuls of hay. The turkey had taken to perching on the roof of the shelters when not cocooned in her tree, and she hopped between the three where each of the mares stood stationed. “They would have chased you away by now if not.”
“Totally,” Poppy agreed. “Whenever those coyotes come around, the humans are all, ‘hey, scram you!!’
“They don’t say ‘scram,’ Pop.” Moshi said, rolling her eyes.
“Well, whatever. They chase ‘em away.”
“If I was a horse, I wouldn’t have to worry,” the turkey said, pecking at a gnat that had picked the very worst tarmac to land on. The pang of her beak against the shelter’s metal roof startled Mirana, who shot out from beneath.
“I don’t think that’s true,” she said.
“Different worries, then,” the turkey conceded. “But if I was a horse, I could join your herd for real. And I could go into the barn! And I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have four legs. Being a horse would just be so cool.” She sighed dreamily, and fluttered back up to her roost to contemplate just how wonderful it would be to trade her ‘Meleagris’ for an ‘Equus.’
After the initial relief of having avoided being the roast beast faded, the turkey was still stuffed with thoughts of horses. Namely, how much she wished to be one. Her typical forays around the property were primarily food motivated, but now she spent less time scratching for snacks and more time interrogating the herd.
“Five times a day!” Brandy said through a mouthful of mash, so really it sounded more like ‘fov toms uh deh.’ They had been discussing meal times – namely how many a horse could expect – and the turkey had just made a very funny quip about mealworms, but Brandy’s attention was pulled by the approach of a volunteer carrying a steaming bucket. For the next several minutes, Brandy’s focus was tunneled into the ritual of clearing out her grain pan, and she could not be reached for comment.
The others echoed this sentiment, and tacked on other seemingly wondrous reasons why being a horse was simply the best.
“Someone picks out your feet, and brushes out your mane!” said Veronica.
“And curries your coat until it shines!” contributed Zuri, who was sporting a new penny look herself.
“In the summer, there’s grass,” Wren said, somewhat dreamily.
“And lying down in a stall at night isn’t the worst, I guess,” Tiva sighed, unable to conceal the flakes of shavings stuck in her tail.
Over the course of the next few weeks, the turkey built a case as to why horses beat turkeys, 10–0, no contest. It began to consume her every waking thought, and even some of her non-waking ones, and got to the point that, just before the 24th of December, a mantra was basically on repeat in her head: I wish I was a horse.
–
It wasn’t that this kindhearted volunteer was trying to buy magic corn, it’s simply that her eye was trained first and foremost on the package’s label of ‘finest you can offer your feathered friends’ and less on the fine print. Besides, a lot of natural pet products touted claims like ‘transformational effects’ and ‘mystical properties,’ if not in so many words. She was simply hoping to offer the turkey something akin to a yuletide feast, a particularly special meal for a special bird on a special day. She made her banquet deposit at the usual spot, and thought very little of it, simply wishing the turkey a pleasant evening and a happy holiday, the former of which she always did, before going on her merry way.
The turkey thought very much of it, as she always did, constantly in awe of how she had grown so lucky to end up at a place that always took such good care of her. But it led her down the line of thought, as it often did, of how well the horses must be taken care of if she, a turkey, was shown such kindness. She glanced up from her feast towards the barn, where warm light spilled out, and she could hear the faint jingling of some holiday music played on a speaker. The horses who were inside were tucked cozily into their bedded stalls, and those who were outside had been wrapped in blankets – hardly a necessity, given the dense nature of their wooly coats, but a comforting gesture all the same. But soon she could focus on very little other than the meal in front of her, and the consumption of such, and found that as her belly grew full, her mind grew quiet.
–
The first thing the turkey noticed upon waking was that she had slept on the ground. Odd. Yes, she had gorged quite heavily on the corn feast that had been laid out for her, but this was not her first binge, and never before had she found a full stomach so tiring she was unable to make it back to her roost. The morning had brought with it a coating of frost, and when she shivered, a lock of hair fell into her eyes–
Hair?!
She opened her mouth to release a startled “bok!” But the sound that came out was veritably equine in cadence, a whinny that vibrated her vocal cords at the base of a much longer, much thicker neck.
She was accustomed to unfurling her wings upon waking and giving them a shake, but where there were wings now sat legs — long and heavy and ungainly, and most certainly not covered in feathers. She felt tremendously top-heavy, her new skull easily dwarfing the size of her old body. Speaking of body, she had been stretched and expanded in every direction, her once light chassis replaced now with one packed with muscle and dense, heavy bone. She gave another experimental yelp, the force from the gust of her nostrils scattering bits of corn and pine needles. She gave her back legs, the ones she was more used to having, an experimental wiggle, and found them equally as uncooperative as the fronts. Everything articulated differently in this new body, and it felt as though each piece of her had a mind of its own. She made a comical attempt to gather all of her limbs beneath her to stand, but found her joints rather uncooperative.
Mahina, closest in proximity to her, and careful observationist of these proceedings, blew out a snort and exclaimed, not without a degree of uncertainty: “you’re a horse!”
So consumed was she with the discovery and motion of her new and unfamiliar body, it hadn’t quite sunk in what that new body actually was. But there would be time enough for the discussion of such things later. For now, her main focus was on getting up.
“How do you move on these things?” She made another fruitless attempt to stand, instead winding up in a splay-legged position, four legs akimbo, forehead pressed to the earth, looking for all the world like an ostrich attempting to bury its head. Once, when she was a fledgling, she’d witnessed the birth of a deer. From her roost, she’d tittered over the little creature’s attempts to rise, highly entertained by the graceless nature of its uncooperative limbs. She wasn’t laughing now, and in fact she wished that she would have asked the fawn for some pointers.
Mahina had taken her previous question seriously.
“Like this,” she said, and went prancing down the fence line, reminding the turkey of why she wished to be a horse in the first place. While a beautiful display of grace and finesse, it was hardly helpful. Luckily, Sienna had traipsed over to see what all the fuss was about, and took pity on the ungainly turkey.
“Watch,” she instructed, lowering herself to the earth with more grace than should be possible for a creature who weighed half a ton.
“Use your front legs, like so, and then the back ones come to support you.” She popped up effortlessly, and the turkey made a defeated little noise in the back of her throat.
“Try!” Encouraged Veronica, who had followed along with Sienna’s instruction with all the delicacy of a ballerina. Mahina had returned from her lap, and was nodding along beside her friends.
She made it up on her third attempt, to the joyful whinnies of the mares. All her groundwork had made the movement of her legs a bit more comprehensible, but it would be a moment before she was floating across the property like Mahina.
“Right right, left left,” Veronica sing-songed, walking a slow line in demonstration.
“And use your hind.” Reminded Sienna
Slowly, and lacking, though not without grace, the turkey took her first few steps in her new body. Once the initial vertigo had passed, and she had made it a good twenty feet without collapsing, she blew out an excited snort, and turned back towards her friends, who were watching with hardly a breath passed between them. They all shared in her triumph, and went racing around the paddock, her victory as sweet as their own. The turkey experimented with a few trotting strides, though nearly went down feet over forelock, so decided it might be better to stick with a brisk walk for a while.
“I must show the others!” she said, giving her tail an experimental swish.
But show the others what, exactly? Yes, she’d deduced for herself and been told outright that she was now equine in composition, but apart from the parts of herself she was able to glimpse out of her periphery, she had very little idea of what she looked like in this new body. As a bird, she was a motley of color, browns and greys and blacks and creams, a dash of ruddy red here and a sparkling of blueish green there. Thinking about it now, she realized that she’d had a lacking appreciation for her feathers and all the multitudes they contained. But she was a horse now, and perhaps she was even more beautiful! She waddled past Esme, quite diverse in color herself, and nickered a greeting.
“Hi, Esme.”
“Hello yourself.” Esme sauntered to the gate, looking somehow both sure of herself and prone to bolt at any minute. There was a curiosity behind her gaze, but a wariness too. ‘Yakama horses,’ the turkey had heard someone say once, but as someone who had cut her own beak in the wild for much of her life, she had empathy for any flightiness (pun intended) that nature or nurture had instilled.
“Do I know you?”
“In a way, yes. I’m the turkey!”
Esme gave a derisive snort.
“You are not. You’re a horse!”
“Well, I went to sleep a turkey, and when I woke up, boom! Horse!”
Esme was skeptical.
“I guess it does explain why you’re out there. And you don’t exactly smell like a horse – not fully – but you also don’t smell like those dreadful donkeys, either.” Then, feeling sheepish, she added, “Don’t tell them I said that, please. They’re nice fellows, just… strange.” Her eyes unfocused slightly. “Like little elves.” She shook, as though to clear a memory.
“…anyway,” the turkey redirected. “I was hoping I could ask you a favor.”
“Within reason,” Esme sniffed, her tone cool. “I’m a pretty busy girl.”
The turkey, who was privy to Esme’s schedule, did not call her on her bluff, instead nodding in passionate agreement.
“Of course, of course. I was just hoping you could tell me… what I look like?”
Esme snorted.
“Like a horse. I thought we’d already been through this–”
“Yes, a horse. But there are different kinds of horse. Mahina, a black horse. Theo, a golden horse. Yourself, a…” the turkey struggled to find the words for Esme’s unique color.
“A beautiful horse?” Esme supplied, most helpful.
Not quite the answer the turkey was looking for, but she nodded in agreement.
“Yes, a beautiful horse.”
“If you want to know what you look like,” called Barb, who was walking by, “Why not just go out to the arena and see yourself in the mirrors?” She paused to try for a bite of grass, but was swiftly thwarted.
“Just don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s another horse in there! If you get confused, just ask it a question only YOU would know! Like, ‘who’s the fastest, coolest, most athletic little pony around?’ Oh wait, that’s my question!” Barb walked away, laughing at her own joke.
When the turkey shifted her focus back to Esme, she too was making a retreat.
“It’s not a bad idea,” she shrugged, to which Barb in the distance called, “I’m full of ‘em!”
Off to the arena she toddled, gaining a bit more confidence with each passing step. Standing at the great swinging doors – looking much smaller now that she had gained a few feet – she marveled at this new space now fully open to her. Admittedly, she had made some unauthorized forays into the arena, but they had always made her feel guilty, or otherwise ended in a chase. Had she been feeling more surefooted, she would have taken off running and bucking as she saw her peers do, but as it stood she was still not entirely understanding of the mechanics of her own body. However, she did feel safe enough in her abilities to raise herself off the ground to have a roll. And good thing too, for once she stepped foot in the softness of the arena with her new horse legs, she wasn’t sure if anything could have kept her from stopping where she stood and collapsing to the ground. Not even the best dust bath could compare to the rapturous joy that was rolling as a horse. Itches she hadn’t even known she’d had were scratched, a thousand mini massages happening all at once. There was a moment when she pitched herself over between left and right where she kicked her legs overhead and felt weightless, before tipping the balance point and landing with a soft thunk on her other side.
Getting up the second time was easier than the first had been by a mile, and it almost built her confidence enough to try a little run-jump combo (for she SO felt like one, upon arising, she was practically itching to test out the limits of her new body), but she held strong, compromising with a wobbly little trot over to the mirror side of the arena.
Glancing at herself, she was struck anew with the reality that the eyes that gazed at her were firmly implanted in the skull of a horse. When she moved her head, so did the horse. When she shook off the roll, the horse shook too. She had a moment of fun, playing with her mime, until she remembered the true nature of her visit, and really took a look at herself.
She was mostly dark, like Moshi was, but with a smattering of white specks all over, like someone had repeatedly flicked a paintbrush in her general direction. Her mane and tail were a reddish brown, fading into a shock of honey gold, much like her tail feathers had done. And her face, several shades lighter than the rest of her coat. She’d never seen another horse like her, but then again, there had never been another horse like her – not to her knowledge, anyway. She blew out an impressed snort at her reflection, fogging up the glass and obscuring herself from view.
–
By the time she’d made it to where Nova and Harissa lived, she had gotten her sea legs, so to speak, and came trotting up the lane like she’d been born on hooves. Nova and Harissa peeled themselves off their grass to see what the commotion was all about.
“Loose horse!” Called Nova, though not particularly loudly. She quite liked a bit of drama. Harissa was not one to turn up her nose at unsanctioned activity either, and craned her neck to see the interloper over Nova’s back.
“Who is that?”
“No one I recognize.”
“Well there’s a whole other side of this property, Nov.”
“Which I can see when we’re out in the arena, Har. It’s not my fault you’re short.”
“I am not short! You’re just tall.”
“True.”
The turkey had come to a halt outside their large gate, letting their argument peter out, as she knew it eventually would. Theirs was one of her favorite paddocks to frequent, partially due to its proximity to the unkempt wild of the creek and the tasty wonders located within, and partially due to its ever flowing stream of entertaining conversation. The things these girls could spend hours talking about! Arguing over which corner of their grass was the most suited to naps, which side of their dry lot was most suited to playing, and which hay bag had the best output. These answers changed every week.
When the geese were around, the turkey had tried to make bets on what the mares would argue about that day, but they were not amenable to playing. More reason why she longed to be a horse.
“It’s me!” she said, “though I look a little different when I’m not perched on your fence.”
The girls blinked at her, and then, one after the other:
“Turkey?”
“I knew it was you,” Harissa said, to which Nova snorted.
“You sooooo did not!”
“Did too! It was obvious.”
“‘Who is that?’” Nova imitated her earlier confusion.
“First of all, I don’t sound like that. Second of all, I just couldn’t see her well, is all.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She turned her attention back to their previously feathered friend. “But wait, how are you looking like that?”
The turkey trotted a wide circle.
“I woke up like this,” she said by way of explanation. “Pretty cool, huh? I look like you!”
“With more mane,” said Harissa.
“And less height,” Nova.
After they had got their gawking out of the way, Harissa invited the turkey in, as she often did.
“Well come on in here, there are some little weird bugs beside the shelter that I know you like,” Harissa gestured with a roll of her neck, a move that the turkey made note of to try later.
But as lovely as the idea of pawing around in the soft dirt sounded, there was now an insurmountable obstacle in her way.
“Um, well, I don’t actually think I can.”
“She can’t just crawl under the fence like she used to. Look how much larger she is!”
“Huh. Yeah, I guess that’s true. And you can’t fly anymore either, can you?”
The turkey shook her legs, but the only thing that happened was a near face-plant, which sent Nova and Harissa into a fit of laughter.
“No,” the turkey said. “I’m a horse now, like you.”
“I kind of liked when you were a turkey,” Nova said in low tones, and though they rarely agreed on anything at first, the turkey did not miss Harissa’s subtle nod.
The turkey trotted on shortly after that, determined to show off her new look to someone who would appreciate her new physique. Jacob and Edward took a break from their roughhousing to blink out at her as she took her first loping strides in the soft footing of the arena. Shoulder to chestnut shoulder they stood, vying to get the best view, despite both of their vantage points being completely unobstructed.
“Hey,” they said, nearly in unison, “cool moves.”
“Totally radical,” Jacob added.
“Watch this one,” said Edward, taking a lap at what the turkey considered a recklessly fast lope, punctuating it with a buck that nearly sent him careening into the shelter.
“Gnarly, dude!” said Jacob, kicking out himself, narrowly missing Edward’s flank in the process.
“But can you do this?” Jacob asked, rocking back on his hind and wiggling his front legs around in what a kind individual might describe as a rear.
“Can you?” Edward teased, to which he was rewarded with a bite on the wither that, in the turkey’s opinion, went on for far too long to be considered fair. But as he was scraping Edward hair off his tongue, Eddie was laughing and pile driving his head into Jacob’s side, resulting in a loud exhalation from his red brother.
No sooner had he recovered his breath than Edward had begun his assault again, brandishing his skull like a mace. They usually didn’t pay her much mind, but they usually stopped to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ when she put on what she called an aerial display. Really, just a lot of pruning and flapping, but it was something that neither of them could do or even approximate. She felt herself wishing suddenly for a wing to tuck her head under, and trotted away to escape the feeling.
Brandy was balanced on the beam beside her fence, working on a wad of hay that she had squirreled away somewhere – perhaps in a cheek.
“Hey! You look familiar,” she called as the turkey trotted by. Next door, Bandit squinted at her, pressing herself against the fence to get a better view. “Come over here, let me look at ‘ya.”
The turkey strode over, positioning herself before Brandy, chest puffed, not unproudly.
After a good several moments of appraisal, Brandy clucked. “You remind me of that little bird girl who was always hanging around. Same coloring around the rump there.”
“Yes!” Bandit exclaimed. “I see that!”
“It’s because I am! I am the bird girl!” The turkey was so excited, she kicked up her hind legs, narrowly avoiding taking a spill when she came down on a particularly slick patch of grass.
“Careful, dear,” Bandit warned. “Even on young legs like yours, I wouldn’t recommend any acrobatic feats outside of the arena.”
Ignoring the turkey’s death defying stunts, Brandy was marinating in her win. “I still got it, don’t I B?” Despite her lack of feathers, Brandy was doing what the turkey would call preening, chewing her grass wad with renewed focus as she basked in the glow that can only accompany being proven correct.
“I never would have said you lost it!” Bandit replied tenderly, which made Brandy chuffle in pride.
“You’re the first of my friends who have recognized me!” The turkey said. She had taken Bandit’s words to heart, and was prancing in place, all four feet more or less on the ground.
“I always was a good intuition,” Brandy went on, with Bandit nodding along. “This ain’t the first time I’ve recognized someone from a great distance. Though this might be my finest achievement to date!”
“A bird! I mean really, B, how did you know?”
The turkey, despite being the focus of their conversation, found herself wholly left out. She practiced her backup as the two old bitties continued reminiscing about the olden days, how Brandy’s mind was still as sharp as a thorn.
She practiced stretching her limbs around the circle of the road, but found that the gravel was a lot more difficult to navigate with the weight of her bigger horse body. Ordinarily she would have flown over the rockiest patches, but she found that leaping them only resulted in a heavier landing. She wished for her wings, if only to not hit the ground so hard.
If Brandy had recognized her, it was not absurd to assume that others would as well. Especially those she roosted over every night. She slid to a stop at the bottom gate of the mare’s paddock. Even in her new body she had the awareness to know she would not fit down the path she normally took as a bird.
“Hey! Girls!” she called, for the mares were stationed at their hay boxes, and not paying the bottom of their pen any particular mind.
Poppy raised the alarm first, followed by Moshi, two little black heads swinging around in tandem to regard the interloper at the bottom of the hill.
“Who is it?” Mirana had turned away from her hay, and joined her attention to meet her herdmate’s.
“Dunno,” said Poppy.
“Can’t tell,” followed Moshi.
“Come up here and join us for a snack!” Poppy offered, with an undertone of mischief that was not missed by her counterpart. Truth be told, the girls grew tired of chasing one another around, and Mirana was a bit too old to really have much fun with. They enjoyed gossiping with Mahina across the fenceline – the three shadows they called themselves – and often made plans on what they would do once they could transport her into their herd. But there was a human component needed, so these plans remained only theoreticals. Now, however, with an unattended horse at the gate, Poppy thought they might actually have a chance for some fresh blood in the mix.
The turkey, meanwhile, grew tired of waiting for them, and tossed her head in irritation.
“It’s me! The turkey!”
She could hear Moshi and Poppy’s near tandem snort, even from where she stood down the hill from them.
“No way,” said Moshi.
“Absolutely no way.”
“It doesn’t seem possible..” Mirana agreed, though she took a few investigative steps forward.
“Way!” The turkey called.
“Well if you’re down there, then who’s up there?” Moshi swiveled to look at the turkey’s roost, only to find it empty of one bird.
“Oh.”
“She goes all around during the day,” Poppy said, the ‘duh,’ implied, but the turkey’s lack of presence in the boughs above seemed to be enough proof for Moshi, who began to make her way down the hill.
A chorus of “no way”s and “how the heck”s accompanied the trio as they thundered down to greet their friend, breakfast forgotten.
“Wow you look cool,” said Moshi, who’d reached the turkey first.
“So cool!” said Poppy.
“Quite lovely,” Mirana agreed, in her own way.
“How’dya get like that?” Asked Pop.
“Yeah! We saw you yesterday and you were definitely still a bird.” All three nodded in agreement to Moshi’s statement.
“It was the craziest thing. The last thing I remember is eating some delicious corn, and then I woke up and it was morning, and I was a horse!”
Mirana snorted in disbelief.
“I knew a mare on the show circuit once, who ate some weird apples? Convinced herself she was a zebra. Kept saying ‘get me back to Kenya, I need to go back to Kenya.’ Turns out, she was just colicing.”
“Yikes.” Said Moshi.
“Yikes.” Said Poppy.
“What’s colicing?” Asked the turkey, which seemed to convince the lot she was not, in fact, a horse.
“Well come in and hang out with us!” Moshi invited after a beat. “We just got breakfast – you can share with Mirana – and after we can play ‘chase!’”
Oh how the turkey loved chase! She tried to be present whenever she could for the games, though admittedly things could get a bit dicey on dry days, when twelve thundering hooves kicked up clouds of dirt that made visibility on the ground rather low, and also on wet days, when slick mud caused her to lose her footing more often than not as she scuttled around by their feet. More than once had she narrowly avoided a collision with an errant leg or hoof when the chasee got a little too close, and as much as she begged them to be involved as a true participant, they wrote her off for fear of true injury to her person.
“Sorry turkey, it’s just too dangerous.” They would say, before scampering off to have all sorts of fun, fun she was only tangentially a part of. But now, with her four legs and her horse body, she could finally participate the way she’d always wanted! If only she could get over the fence.
Irritated, she snorted.
“I can’t get in! I don’t fit under the fence, and I certainly can’t fly over.”
The other mares pondered this for several moments, attempting to problem solve, but came up blank, with sheepish expressions that communicated this only too well.
“Sorry, turkey. I guess you can’t play after all.” This, from Poppy.
“It would be cool if you were still a turkey, then you could get over the fence,” Moshi said.
“Yeah, and who will watch over us while we sleep tonight?” Asked Mirana, more concerned with the group’s overall well being than their silly games.
To this, the turkey had no answer.
Feeling sullen and a bit downtrodden, away strode the turkey, unable to watch her friends engage in a game she couldn’t even peripherally participate in. Sure, she had a horse body, but what good was it if she had to live life all alone? Her wish to become a horse suddenly felt foolish. There were many great things about being a bird, she thought, and she had taken many of them for granted.
She’d ended up on the small patch of grass beside miniland, where she folded her legs beneath herself and had a self-pitying lie down. Just when she was feeling particularly blue, a surprisingly deep voice knocked on the door of her pity party.
“Psst,” It said. “Bite me off a hunk of grass, would ya?”
The voice was on level with her, and she turned, startled, to find Sunny D peering at her through the fence boards, entreating her for a snack. Gingerly, she grazed a bouquet of the longest, greenest shoots she could find, and passed them through the slats.
“Thanks!” He said, transforming before her eyes into a vacuum. No blade left uneaten. Shasta, nosing at her treat ball, paused her relentless assault to investigate her son’s shenanigans.
“Sunny,” she admonished, not unkindly, “Are you having that nice lady pick grass for you?”
“Busted,” Sunny murmured, turning to face the music. “Yeah, but I was just testing it out to make sure it was good for you, right?” He looked back at the turkey, pleadingly.
“R‑right,” the turkey agreed, nibbling off another chunk. “Here you are, ma’am.”
“You are a nice boy, Sunny,” Shasta cooed. “And your friend, too. Who are you, dear?”
“I’m the turkey,” said the turkey, no longer feeling the pride she once had in the confession.
“But you don’t look like the turkey at all! You look like a horse!”
“I’ve never seen a turkey look like a horse before,” Sunny agreed. He had positioned himself in his mother’s blind spot, and was making odd gestures with his eyes and head that seemed to be communicating something about ‘more’ and ‘grass’ and ‘please.’ The turkey couldn’t quite make it out.
“I wished to be a horse,” the turkey said miserably. “And at first, it was wonderful, but now I realize all the things I can’t do, and I… I miss being a turkey!”
“Oh dear,” said Shasta. “That is troubling.”
“Troubling (cough) more (cough) indeed (cough) grass (cough).”
Shasta shot her son a look, and he had the grace to appear cowed.
“How did you become a turkey in the first place?” asked Shasta.
“Well, the nice volunteer who feeds me, she gave me an extra special dinner yesterday, and right before I fell asleep I remember thinking, ‘I wish I could be a horse!’ and then when I woke up.. I was!”
“Why don’t we all eat some grass, and you can wish to be a turkey, and take a nap, and see what happens? I won’t wish to be a turkey, I’ll wish for more grass.”
“Sunny!” The turkey sprang up, quicker than she’d ever imagined possible, “you’re a genius!”
As she loped off, she could just make out him saying, “don’t forget about the grass!”
It didn’t take her long to reach the tree, and to find that there was a new pile of corn waiting for her, golden and gleaming and looking delectable, even as a horse.
“Hey! Where’ve you been?” Mahina asked. “The lady was looking for you. She seemed real worried that you hadn’t been around. Now that I mention it, a lot of the people were talking about you today, hoping you were okay and stuff. I tried to tell them, but they never seem to understand me.”
“No time to chat!” cried the turkey, dipping her muzzle towards the corn pile. But then, finding a moment to chat, she asked: “Mahina, do you like me better as a turkey?”
Mahina, swallowing her mouthful of alfalfa, said, “I like you no matter what you look like. But I’m not going to lie, your turkey form is pretty cool.”
With that, the turkey dove into the corn pile, crunching as many kernels as possible at a time between her extensive molars, all the while repeating her wish: please let me be a turkey again. Please.
–
Christmas morning. A holiday not entirely defined by the consumption of fowl. With a start, the turkey awoke, and despite the previous night’s gorge, she felt ten pounds lighter. More like 810 pounds lighter – she was a bird again. With an excited squawk, she flapped her wings – wings! wings! – and did excited little turkey-donuts in the dirt.
“Turkey!” Mahina cried, as always the first to notice. “You’re a turkey!”
“It worked!” The turkey said, shooting herself between the ground and the fence, as she had a hundred mornings before, and looked forward to doing a hundred mornings still.
“Ha Ha easy there,” Mahina said, her tail on backwards. “When you go in and out of my blind spot like that, I still kind of want to step on you.”
But even the turkey’s newfound appreciation and understanding of horse vision couldn’t have stopped her from bolting into the paddock with Moshi, Poppy, and Mirana to announce her return to form.
“It’s me!” She called. “I’m me again!”
“Oh good!” Said Moshi, sounding genuinely relieved.
“You were kinda creepy as a horse,” said Poppy, with Mirana nodding along.
“Up for a game of chase?”
The turkey bobbed her head in enthusiastic affirmation.
“There’s just one thing I have to do first.”
Stretching her wings and giving them an experimental preen, she fluttered off to tell the rest of the herd that sometimes, the best gift of all, is just being yourself.
And corn. Corn is good too.
