He was beautiful. Standing there like a god, his posture
intimidating, strut staggering, beard hanging. Dark and handsome, he looked
good. Good enough to eat.
I stood in disbelief, staring, holding my breath as I
attempted to admire from afar. I took a step forward, afraid to get too close.
But I knew he wasn’t looking at me. Not truly looking, anyway. He was looking
at Them. A group of girls standing
about 10 feet away.
Of course.
My gaze followed him as he took a few steps, showing more
swagger than Mick Jagger and P. Diddy at the All-White Party, combined. With a
side of John Mayer, I suppose. Because that dude has been with a lot of hot
female celebrities.
As he walked—no, strutted—the girls in front of him stayed
together. A pack of pretty, they looked unaware and uninterested. Like they had no idea he was standing
there. But that’s a trick. All females know when they are being watched. Even
if we act like we don’t see, we see. Oh, we see.
He continued to walk forward, but I could feel his
frustration--tangible, thick in the air—as the girls continued to ignore him. How
could they not see him? Or care? I waited, counting the seconds because I knew
it was coming. One, two, three…Wait for
it…
He stopped, closer than ever to the group, who looked more
disinterested than before, their backs turned, heads looking towards the
ground. And then, like a magician unveiling a rabbit under his top hat, a wave
of dark feathers opened like nature’s gift as he let out a loud, throaty
gobble, urgent. As he stood, more puffed than a Corn Pop, his stance confident
as if he was saying, “Hey, ladies. You like what you see? ”
Ole’ Turkey Tom was getting his pimp juice on. In my
backyard.
And the hens weren’t havin’ it.
My parents live in the woods on 18 acres, so I’ve grown up
around the Calls of the Wild, if you will. These days, my mom has gotten into
bird watching, even buying a book called “Backyard Birds: Michigan”, and
dog-earing the pages that showcase birds we have seen. After seeing bluebirds nest in our
boxed birdhouses, woodpeckers knock their noses against oak trees and robins
lay blue eggs every year in the front yard spruce, I can honestly say that no
bird has more swagger than that of the male turkey.
It’s comical to watch a male turkey try to get the attention
of a pack of hens, especially because of how eerily similar it is to a
gel-haired guy’s attempt to penetrate a pack of women in high-heels at a club
Just replace the feathers with a tight Affliction tee or button down striped
shirt, the throaty gobble with a smooth “You wanna a drink?” comment and the sunlight
streaming in through the leaves with strobe lights and a crowded dance floor,
and you’ve got yourself a Mating Call copycat scenario.
The male swagger is still there. The desperate “Look at me”
is there. The girls trying to ignore and get tighter and tighter together when
a dude approaches is there.
As I watched Turkey Tom become frustrated with his “I’m So
Pretty” approach while the hens clucked away, I realized how many females –turkey
or human or whatever—seem to travel in packs when it comes to attracting the
opposite sex, while a guy goes at it alone or with one other dude. My boyfriend
and I were recently swapping stories of college days and going out. I spoke of
getting ready with the girls and our process for keeping the Creepers at bay,
but he wasn’t all like, “Yeah, we got about 10 dudes together and then
danced and fistpumped and
strategized.” Getting girls is a solo mission, while ladies are out doing their
thang. Just like the hens.
And we seem to have the same strategies as the female
turkeys do. Stay in a pack. Get close together. Do not make eye contact and
appear unaware. You don’t see him, he’s not there, keep walking, keep talking.
Sometimes them boys puff out their feathers or pump their fists. But it’s all
in good fun. Good-natured fun.
And you gotta give it to Ole’ Turkey Tom. Swagger is key. So
is persistence. So I will continue to watch him get his game on and maybe, just
maybe, one day, he will find that lucky hen to break away from the pack.
