Borrowing the male turkey did the job. The girls have been sitting on 18 eggs for the last few weeks, and nine of them hatched today. This afternoon, Tea brought a tiny, fuzzy turklet (my name for turkey chicks) to me cupped in her hands. I had never seen a freshly-hatched turkey before -- it looked a lot like a chicken-chick with a slightly stretched-out neck. Its feathers were still damp from its recent struggle against the shell that encased it only this morning. I took the tiny bird from Tea's hands and cradled it in mine. It was much more wiggly and vocal than the chicken-chicks. I didn't really like being held, so I gave it back to Tea so that she could put it back in the box with its mother.
I encountered a few other "turkeys" today.
A boy in mine and Tea's tenth grade class has been skipping our class lately. There is no real rule against skipping class -- well, there's a rule, but few of the school rules are enforced with any consistency. So he comes when he want to.... which has not been very often this last month. Tea has talked with his mother and the principal about it, but he still skips class. Today after he hung out outside during our class, Tea approached him and asked why he didn't come to class. He said that he had something that he had to do then. She told him that if he does not come to class and participate, then he can be assured that he will not be happy with the failing grade that he will receive at the end of the year.
Kitten has claimed me as his very own person. He finally realized that being patted and held is not such a bad thing.... and now he won't leave me alone. He stretches up my leg with his skinny, black arms, claws digging in to get my attention. When he does that, I usually pick him up and carry him around for a little while. He nuzzles down into my arms, purring softly. If I sit someplace to read, it isn't long before he finds me and jumps up into my lap to sleep while I read. I love it that he wants to be held now -- except for when I am eating. He doesn't know the difference, though -- sitting at the kitchen table or sitting on the couch -- to him its all the same. The moment I sit down at the table, the little rascal jumps up onto my lap at least five times until I finally put him out of the kitchen and shut the door. But he just scampers out the front door, around the house, pulls open the back door to the kitchen with his claws of steel, and jumps onto my lap again.
I ran today. The sun was hot, and it felt great. When I got to the bridge, I turned around to head back to the house. I wasn't paying attention to the stiff breeze that had just picked, and I turned to spit.... right into the wind blowing back at me.