Poor confused creature

I almost don't know if I should write this. It is unsavory in some oddly undefinable way.

Yesterday when I went to feed the turkeys, I noticed that our Bourbon Red hen had flattened herself to the ground and wouldn't budge. I was mystified and worried; I suspected an orthopedic problem. Then I thought perhaps she was sitting on an egg, so I felt around under her (gingerly, as one does to avoid sticking fingers too deeply into potential unseen piles of turkey manure, which is possibly one of the nastiest substances in the known universe). But there was nothing. Just a hen who wouldn't move.

Then I had a sudden moment of clarity.

Around Chez 10 Signs, we have a habit of gobbling at our turkeys. Why? Because the tom turkey gobbles back, and it is intrinsically funny. GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLE! GOBBLEGOBBLEGOBBLE! Funny. But rarely do we imitate the hens, because they just say PIK! PIK!, which isn't nearly as amusing.

So of course our Bourbon Red hen had gotten the impression that we humans were especially large and magnificent tom turkeys. She was, er, making herself available to me.

I backed away slowly and watched as the actual tom turkey moved in. To his credit, he tried his best, but as far as I can tell, he mainly succeeded in stepping all over her.

I'm going to go out on a limb and predict that this will be the only blog entry written in the entire world today on the topic of turkey puberty.