There are turkeys living down our road. They live there all year round, yet they surprise and delight me every time I walk past Duke’s place. Now that the weather is warming, the gobblers are puffing and preening along the roadside, eager to seduce any and every passerby. They are not picky. Being mistaken for a turkey hen is yet another one of those experiences I’d never had until we came to this place, like seeing bobcats. I imagine that one day I’ll be far, far away—in Ireland maybe, or Spain—remembering those bobcats. I like strolling the length of our road with several randy toms in tow. It’s not exactly the gardens of the Alhambra, but then, I am no turkey hen, though apparently I will do for now.