Tweedle Dum, the turkey jake, is super frustrated. There’s a trio of wild (okay, dropped in by the neighbor so he can have guided turkey hunts on his property) toms that have been bothering us all day here. They swoop in and rape my turkey hens, and poor Dummy can’t protect all three girls at once. My husband first chased them off with a stick, but then he took my .22 revolver out there with bird shot and scared them off. (.22 bird shot is not going to kill a turkey unless you hold the barrel to its head, so settle down, PETAites.)
So Dummy, who is so terrible at turkey sex the local hooligans have come in to show how much better they are, and outnumbered at turkey fighting, and for some reason, pretty small for a Bourbon Red jake, is spoiling for a fight. Like a complete ass, he apparently got into it with Azrael, who is now sporting a bloody, lacerated comb and bloody feet.
Jeff wants to shoot Dummy and let the hens go off with the wild ones. I admit, that would solve a lot of problems. I’d say I never wanted turkeys in the first place, but that isn’t true. I did want turkeys, but now that I have them, I don’t. I’m tired of turkey poop everywhere, I’m frustrated with turkey noise, and now I’m pissed that my handsome, gentle rooster is wounded.
I didn’t have any Blukote, but I went out there and picked Az up and held him while I cleaned him up as much as he would let me. I put some Neosporin (no -caines of any kind!) on him and let him go. He closed his eyes for the washing part and gave me squinty sideeye for the salve part. What a lovely, patient and good rooster he is. I will invest in some Blukote, though.
And I have to seriously think about whether I’m going to keep these turkeys.
(And for those of you who are screaming, “But what about BAMF?!”, she is just fine. Seven weeks old and getting feathers in her tail. They look like nice, straight, stiff ones, too, so we are still hoping for pullet. I might have pictures tomorrow.)