I live in a small fenced area. I have two buddies who are so boring. To make life more interesting, I bother them every time I get a chance to. We mostly end up fighting, and so far I have a lot of bald spots because of fighting. Basically, I have no hair, but I'm proud of it because it shows how many times I've been in fights. My legs are bowed, just like my mom's. I have a few feathers which are messy looking, but I'd say they're pretty because no one is truly like me. I am a very skinny turkey, which I am proud of too because my owner only kills the fat turkeys, and I am too skinny to make a profit from. I think he keeps me alive because I always entertain him, the way I'm always bothering the other turkeys. And wiithout me, the other turkeys would be very bored.

Once my owner was out late, and he accidently dropped a bottle of liquid into the grain bowl, and I slurped it all up, thinking it was some sort of medicine. But a few minutes later I felt very carefree. I finally realized that I drank liquor. Then I went over to the other turkeys and we brawled for over one hour. The next day the turkeys were bawling me out for acting big with them. Then I went to the eating area and ate so hungrily.

A few days later my buddy got shot. He was being "harvested," as they say. This was the time of the year for us to be killed. I was glad I didn't have what it took to be killed. I was a very unhealthy turkey.

Every year my buddies get killed, and I always think, "I could have been there too!" When you're a turkey, you either live a cheap life, like me, with bad characteristics, even ugly looking, or you live a short life, which is sad because you can end up on a dinner table at a party. I've chosen to live a rough life and I want to die in a turkey fight. My type of life is more interesting and exciting. Before I die I want to feel the urge to kill, the desire for victory, and the pressure of my buddies cheering me on. I don't want to die quietly and be eaten.

Being killed that way is pathetic, and only the best turkeys with beautiful feathers and rich meat die with this sadness and grief. I want my death to be inside this fence, where I cry with victory or die with defeat!

By
Angela Kameroff