Turkey With a Shotgun

He came at us in the middle of the night. Carrying a shotgun, and it was not light. He shot at my husband but was way off to the right. I saw it was the turkey and knew we’d have a fight. I hid under the bed and refused to pop out my head. I knew that gobbler was waiting to make all of us dead. Then I heard the little ones climbing out of their bed, So I dashed down the hallway, and hid with them instead. Bam! That gun off. The turkey was a killing machine. He took out the boarders, Mr. and Mrs. McQueen. I yelled “Turkey, we were going to have ham, not turkey lean.” He came into the room; his eyes had a wild mean gleam. He took that shotgun and put holes all over the wall. Then he strutted out, looking at least ten foot tall. Never get a turkey whose been on steroids again, I told my husband, who had been hiding from him.