I had a conversation with a wild turkey the other day. Thought maybe you’d like to listen in. I have also taken the liberty of interpreting what I was saying to the turkey and the big fellow’s response.
Cluck, cluck, cluck. Hello? Anyone out there? I am a beautiful hen turkey and I want to have your chicks.
Gobble, gobble, gobble. Is that Brewer again? You drive a grey Jeep, don’t you? Parked it down by the fence. I remember you from last year. Haven’t you learned by now? I wouldn’t come in to your call if there were no more hens left on earth.
Cluck, cluck, cluck. This is not Brewer. My name is Hen-rietta. I’m very lonely and I want you.
Gobble, gobble, gobble. You still using that Tiny Coiner call? It sounds like a teacher scraping her nails on the blackboard. I hate it when you use that call.
Cluck, cluck, double-cluck. I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is not a turkey call, it’s a real live hen turkey’s voice and if you’re not careful, I’m going to fly away and look for other tom turkeys. I am very attractive, you know. Nice tail feathers.
Gobble, gobble, gobble. I can’t believe you got up this early in the morning in freezing weather thinking you could get me to come in to your call. I am a five-year old bird. I have seen it all. Maybe when I was two I would have come in for a peek – really late in the season – but I would never come in to a call like yours. You sound like my first wife when you double cluck.
Double, double, double-cluck. Listen, big boy, you’re not the only game in town, you know. I am getting tired of waiting for you to show up. I’ll give you five more minutes to make up your mind, and then I’m out of here.
Gobble, gobble, gobble. So tell me Brewer, how’s it going? You talk to all the sportsmen out there. Anybody shooting anything worth bragging about? I have a 12-inch beard, you know, and two-inch spurs. Seen anything like that checked in?
Cluck, cluck, sigh. I don’t know this Brewer fellow. I’m a hen turkey. But I hear nobody’s doing much with the gobblers just yet. It was 28 degrees on opening day and spitting snow.
Gobble, gobble, gobble. That’s what I figured. Not much action yet. I’m having a tough time, too. No hen in her right mind wants to go courting when it’s 28 degrees. They stay on the roost all day and talk about The Voice.
Cluckety, cluck, cluck. I know nothing about The Voice. I am a hen turkey and I’m hot to trot.
Gobble, gobble, gobble. Right. And I’m the Pope in feathers. Listen, Brewer, it’s been fun chatting with you and all, but I need to move along. I hear it’s a little warmer down by the creek. I think I’ll wander off in that direction, maybe scratch up a few juicy grubs on the way. Keep trying, maybe you’ll get a jake.
Cluck, cluck, triple-cluck. Anybody else out there? My name is Hen-rietta and I was the June centerfold in Outdoor Life magazine. But I’m freezing cold and I’m going home if somebody doesn’t come calling soon.