The Turks are here on Leighton Farm. There are nine in total and they are not concerned about our presence, nor are they concerned about the horses. They hate Star, my German Shepherd, but just about everyone hates her. So, who are The Turks? They’re the turkeys that live in our woods and hang out in the corn and wheat fields that border our property. I call them The Turks for some reason that I can’t explain, but I think it’s funny.
Today The Bird and I were jumping. Jimmy wants me to jump him regularly and I’m trying to fit it in. It was a great session and I followed it by a hack on the buckle about the farm. For any other horse this would be no big deal, but for The Bird, this is a gift from the Angels. I can’t tell you how many times we walked around the farm and I prayed that he would reach, just once. I had to keep my face to the side so his ears wouldn’t poke my eyes out. I never dreamt that he would stroll around the farm on the buckle.
So here we are, strolling. I’m feeling fine after our jumping session. Without warning (Henk, Henk, Henk), that’s the sound you hear in a horror movie before something bad happens. Out of the woods come The Turks with all the grace of flying elephants. They are only about ten feet from me and That Bird. That Bird on the buckle. He shies, I sit into him and he puts his head back down and continues strolling. You can only realize the miracle of this if you know The Bird.