I never thought I’d tire of hearing a turkey gobble, but this bird was pushing it. Ever since he’d flown down from the roost, he’d responded to every call I’d made. Yelping, cutting, purring—it didn’t matter. He had an answer for everything. And when I’d shut up, he’d answer that too—gobbling his fool head off for the pure joy of it.
After an hour I crawled to the stone wall and peered over. He was in the exact spot where he’d landed after flying down: 150 yards out in the blueberry field with no way to approach him.
I decided to call it a stalemate and leave, but after making an unproductive loop, I found myself...