The Great Escape

The Great Escape

 

Old Macd was lying on the ground. Blood was oozing out from under his head.

“Is he dead?” asked Roscoe.
Tom said, “I don’t know. . . . How does one tell?”
“Hold a mirror under his nose. If it doesn’t fog up, he’s dead.”
“No fog.”
Death by pecker.

The escape committee had worked out every detail. The tunnel option had been rejected. Climbing the fence wasn’t an option. The final choice had been a two-pronged attack: some how putting the old guy out of commission while keeping the fence gate open. It would take precise timing and coordination; something that turkeys weren’t especially known for.
       The plan was to distract Old Macd when he came into the paddock to feed them. A diversion would lead him away from the gate where he would be attacked by Delta Force composed of eight of the largest and strongest turkeys. This hit team had tried a multiple pecking attack on a couple of chickens with positive results, depending on your point of view.
       The diversion was crucial. It had to distract Macd before he could lock the gate. Just in case, a backup plan had been devised where a special kamikaze squad would be sacrificed by plugging the gate open with their bodies.

The plan had worked. The onslaught flocked out of the gate amongst a cry of glee. Freedom at last.

There were casualties. The eggs had to be left behind. But to them turkeys, heaven was a better option than thanksgiving dinner.

© 2016, David Huffman