The Turkeys' Great Escape

The turkeys' last full day on earth before Christmas had arrived at Newhouse Farm. The following day they'd meet their end at the traffic cone of doom, but today the sun was shining, the air was mild in an unexpected respite from the wintry weather, and the 11 turkeys were blissfully ignorant of their fate. I'd tipped the remainder of the turkey pellets into their feeder in order to give them a bountiful last supper. They could gorge themselves as much as they liked today as we'd certainly have no use for turkey pellets from tomorrow.

I say the turkeys were ignorant of what was due to happen to them, but during the weeks leading up to Christmas these birds had started to make a few bids at escape. Mostly these attempts were a bit feeble, and would result in half of the birds jumping over the fence that surrounded their enclosure only to hang around on the opposite side looking a bit gormless. I'd find them in the evening when it was time to put the animals safely to bed, and would shoo them back inside their enclosure with little fuss. This was hardly anything to rival the Great Escape, although James and I were slightly bemused as to how they were getting out as we'd clipped their wings in order to stop them from flying.

But with time these escape attempts started to get a bit more adventurous. One morning as I was getting dressed before heading downstairs for breakfast I heard a suspiciously loud blast of gobblegobbling coming from directly outside my bedroom. I flung open the door to my room that led directly out into the garden to see 10 startled turkeys standing on my doorstep, looking a bit sheepish. Once again, with little resistance, I herded the birds back towards their enclosure. Only one of them had remained inside the fencing, a little put out that it had been left behind. Then about a week later, after a period of good behaviour, the turkeys escaped again. Half of them were spotted sneaking up the lane leading out of the farm into the village, their excited gobbling alerting us to the movements of this escape posse. Perhaps the turkeys knew Christmas was coming after all?!

True to form, now that their last day on earth was here, turkeys attempted their boldest escape plan yet. I was spending the day alone at the farm as business had taken Dick and James to London. They were due back tomorrow, when we'd jointly perform the dreaded deed of dispatching the turkeys one by one. Today I was busying myself around the farmhouse, trying to distract myself from thoughts of the turkeys' fate so as not to get upset. This was the perfect opportunity the turkeys had been waiting for, and this time not a single turkey was to be left behind.

Somehow all 11 plump birds managed to sneak over the fence of their enclosure undetected. They stealthily walked past the pig enclosure whilst the pigs were having their afternoon nap, still undetected. One by one they hopped along the steps that led to the lane, and still no one was in sight to thwart their plans. Sensing freedom tantalisingly close the turkeys became overwhelmed with excitement. All 11 birds emitted a loud fanfare of gobblegobbling at the same time, and in the farmhouse kitchen I heard this distinctive sound and realised what the turkeys were up to.

I ran out of the door and through the gardens in the direction the sound came from, where I found 11 turkeys half way up the lane. Caught in the act they tried to look nonchalant, pecking innocently at nearby berries and leaves. The 6 stags (male turkeys) were particularly pleased with themselves, and puffed up their glossy feathers like puffer fish, strutting around and showing off to each other. "Where d'you think you're going?!" I cried, to which the turkeys replied "Gobbleobbleobbleobbleobble" excitedly. "I don't think so" I retorted, "Come on, back you go." and shooed them back down the lane towards the farm. "Gobbleobbleobbleobble!" the turkeys proclaimed again in unison.

Once I'd safely ushered the turkeys out of the lane and along the steps towards the top beds (halfway back towards their enclosure) I stopped for a moment to watch them. Despite having been caught in the act, the turkeys were clearly very pleased with themselves. The six stags kept puffing up their feathers and gliding around, flaunting their black plumage which shone in the beautiful wintry sunlight, whilst the seven hens (female turkeys) eagerly pecked at blades of grass and bits of bark as if they'd never seen them before. It was a moving sight, knowing that this was the last time the turkeys would get to experience these things, and so I decided to allow the turkeys some 'play time' before I shooed them back into their enclosure once and for all.

For the next hour I slowly walked the turkeys around the top vegetable beds. With a little encouraging the turkeys would follow me wherever I went, so I led them first up towards the greenhouse and then back towards the fallen tree that had fallen down so spectacularly during the Friday 13th storm. The pigs, who had been disturbed from their usual lengthy siesta by all the fracas, watched perplexed from their enclosure as the turkeys strutted along behind me whilst I led them around like the pied piper. When my merry band reached the fallen tree they leapt excitedly onto its branches, hopping from one branch to the other as if it was a climbing frame, wobbling precariously as they tried to keep their balance. It seemed to be a game of who could climb the highest, and watching the turkeys leap from branch to branch I realised that this was their natural environment. Turkeys were woodland birds, and liked nothing more than to perch in trees, which is why they must always have perches in their enclosures.

Eventually the sun began to set and the air grew cold - it was time to put the turkeys away to bed for the last time. With the turkeys safely inside their shed I removed their feeder. There'd be no midnight feasts for them tonight, as the birds needed to be starved before they were dispatched tomorrow otherwise any undigested food inside of them could spoil the meat. Taking one last look at the turkeys as they started jumping up onto the perches where they'd roost for the night, I shut the shed door and walked out of their enclosure closing the fence behind me. I could still hear the turkeys thumping around inside the shed - there was always a bit of pushing and shoving as the turkeys vied for their favourite spots on the perches.

I smiled as I thought how these birds would probably have a great night's rest after the days' exciting events. It was sad that tomorrow the turkeys would have to be killed, but I realised what a great life these birds had compared to so many other Christmas turkeys around the country. After all, how many other turkeys would have been able to run around and climb on trees before they faced the chop... sadly not very many. To buy an organic free range turkey like the ones at Newhouse Farm would cost around £80 to £90, much more money than the average household would be prepared to spend on the centerpiece of their Christmas dinner. Was it unrealistic to wish that all turkeys and other livestock could be raised less intensively in a more humane and natural surroundings?

As much as I wished the Newhouse Farm turkeys didn't have to die, I knew that they'd had the best life possible, and just maybe I'd helped them to have the best last day on earth they could have wished for. I just hoped that tomorrow I'd be brave enough to help the turkeys on their way.

Story to be continued...