A glorious turkey, minus the stuffing
Turkey struts his way into family's heart--and out of their stomachs
Date published: 11/26/2009
BY EDIE GROSS
He was supposed to grace today's Thanksgiving table, alongside the stuffing and cranberry sauce.
But Turkey has beaten the odds.
Perhaps he hatched his plan this past summer during the long car ride from the Michigan farm of his birth to the Massaponax property of Amy and Ray Woodruff.
He was only a few weeks old at the time, just a tiny tuft of black-and-gold feathers. A gift from Amy's father, who raises bronze heritage turkeys, Turkey was expected to fatten up in time for the holiday meal.
He peeped the entire car ride--all 13 hours. And after he arrived in Spotsylvania, he continued to make his demands known.
He'd follow Ray around the yard, peeping incessantly until Ray scooped him up and let him ride around on his shoulder. There, Turkey would peck at Ray's earrings or his glasses.
If Ray sat on the porch, Turkey would climb into his lap.
When Ray pulled weeds from his squash garden, Turkey hopped in and helped, using his beak to pull them up.
When the bird started to rip up the vegetables, Ray shooed him away. Offended, Turkey fanned his tail feathers at Ray for the first time.
That's when they knew Turkey was a tom. Only male turkeys do that sort of thing.
TURKEY GETS A REPRIEVE
When Amy, Ray and Amy's three kids would go in for the night, Turkey would hop onto the porch and keep an eye on them through the sliding-glass door.
"I would wake up to him at the door, peeping for me to come out and play with him," said Ray, a barista at Hyperion in downtown Fredericksburg.
He became the first to admit that Turkey was more friend than feast.
"I knew I couldn't eat him," he said.
It took Amy a few more weeks to come around. After all, the whole point of bringing Turkey home had been to eat him in November.
In the end, even she had to admit that she could no more cook Turkey than the family cat.
"I decided I couldn't eat him either," said Amy, who also nixed giving him away for someone else's meal. "There's too much love there."
That doesn't mean the Woodruffs are opposed to raising their own food. In February, her father sent three dozen chicken eggs, which hatched a few weeks later.
Many of them were roosters. Since the Wood-ruffs needed only one, the rest ended up on the family's dinner table.
"I don't feel bad taking an animal's life knowing I gave it a good life," said Amy, who works at Fredericksburg's Kybecca wine shop. "I expected to feel guilt. I actually felt really OK with it. I felt like I'd taken complete responsibility for my food."
THE PERFECT PET
But Turkey was a different matter. He acted like a pet.
When baby chicks were born on the Woodruffs' farm this fall, Turkey let them climb onto his back. He'd chase the bigger chickens away from their food.
When the Woodruffs' rooster, Roo, got aggressive with Amy a few weeks ago, the usually mild-mannered Turkey went after Roo to settle the score.
He wears his moods on his wrinkly face. When Turkey gets excited, the skin around his eyes turns a brilliant blue. When he's angry, his wattle turns red.
Turkey, now about 5 months old, recently stopped peeping and started gobbling. He'll almost always gobble at the sound of a car horn or when Amy shouts for her son, Adam.
He's not crazy about the raccoons and possums that sometimes sneak onto the family porch when he's sleeping there. He pecks at the window until Ray comes out to scare them off.
But he's cuddled regularly with the stray cat that visits the Woodruffs. And he was caught getting fresh with the kids' blue soccer ball.
Lately, he's had his eyes on the family's denim-clad scarecrow, erected the day a hawk went after the chickens.
"The next morning, there's Turkey, just showing and strutting his stuff to that scarecrow," said Amy.
STARTING A TREND
The Woodruffs plan to find a more appropriate mate for Turkey in the spring, perhaps another bronze heritage, a breed on the "watch" list of the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy because it's globally endangered. Fewer than 5,000 breeding birds remain in the United States.
Unlike commercial turkeys, which are artificially inseminated and bred specifically for eating, heritage birds mate and reproduce naturally.
Some of Turkey's descendants may end up as pets themselves, said Amy.
"The hope is that we're on the cutting edge. This is the new potbelly pig," she said. "Everyone's gonna want one."
Some of them may also end up on Thanksgiving tables. But Turkey needn't worry about that.
"This turkey's going to be purely ornamental," said Amy. "Not on our plates or on our conscience."
When Turkey gets excited, the skin around his eyes turns a brilliant blue.
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