Why I Hate Turkeys

I hate turkeys. I mean I really hate turkeys. When we first moved in here, I thought it was kind of cute that a flock of turkeys lived in the cemetery across the street.

Then, I realized I have two dogs that weigh 55+ pounds and, on the elkhound side, are bred to hunt and, on the bouvier side, are bred to pull.

Prey drive + pulling instinct + turkeys = FML

My girls are half bouvier. You know how a dog pulled President Reagan across the White House lawn? Yeah, that’s a bouvier.

President Reagan getting dragged by Lucky the Bouvier des Flandres

Bouviers are bred to pull carts.

Not an ambulance cart, but two bouviers pulling a woman in a cart.

So this morning, I left early to go run with the girls. We started off really well, but my phone started to fall, and instead of stopping to adjust it, I tried to fix it while running. The end result was a scraped knee and knuckle. And my palm got scraped too, but that didn’t bleed for some reason.


Me falling makes the girls a little… riled up, so I decide to walk back from the furthest point of the run. We do all right, bark at a couple squirrels, but for the most part they’re pretty good. That is, until…

Those little black spots in the road are turkeys coming out of the cemetery and going to the field next to the church. Gah!

Those little black spots in the road are turkeys coming out of the cemetery and going to the field next to the church. Gah!

I’m less than a block away from my apartment and the turkeys start streaming out of the cemetery into the field next to the church. There’s about twenty turkeys I can see. Fifteen or so in the church field, and another five that ran back to the cemetery when cars came by.

We are four houses away and my girls are frozen. Sometimes, usually, if I walk a block away and come back, the turkeys have vanished and it’s safe to continue my walk. This did not happen.

We tried three times to go back and forth.

Turkeys are still there.

My wonderful husband who I’m on the phone with gives me the completely useless advice of, “Just go through them.” When I tell him that won’t work, he just tells me to go through them. Again. And again.

So, after the third or fourth time he tells me, “Just go through the turkeys,” I finally snap and tell him I am not his size.

I really didn’t want to fall a second time before 8am and I don’t want to fall a second time before 8am. That that is the dumbest idea ever when you weigh only 30 pounds more than the dogs that are bred to pull and they have all the leverage.

Apparently, this means I am in a bad mood and he hangs up on me.

I’m a block away from home. I can see my apartment. I just want to go home, wash my scraped up knee, and eat some breakfast. But I can’t because there are turkeys in the way.

So, we try his exceedingly stupid advice anyway. I get about two houses closer to the church field and the turkey-geddon going on in front of us when Minnie starts jumping up and down and Daisy starts alternating between jumping on me and pulling.

So… I gave up and we walked around. Adding over half a mile to our walk.

Thanks turkeys.

And then, when we got home before I could hop in the shower, Daisy threw up all over my throw blanket… and did I mention that our steam cleaner has sprung a leak?

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