Cato's Republic

Death of a crank

I found his body in a plastic bag in the garbage one morning. At first I couldn’t figure out what it was. Something the size of a small child was wrapped in black plastic and stuffed in the garbage. He took up so much space; I couldn’t get my own trash into the container. I opened the top of the bag and there were his feet; two red talons, rigid and cold. I cringed. Of course, I knew who it was, my arch enemy.

I didn’t wonder at his death. No. I was glad. He had taken over my mare, this piece of pompous poultry, and I was glad he was in the bag. Six months ago my landlady’s bronze heritage turkey had moved into my Arabian mare’s enclosure. At first I thought nothing about it. The turkey was bedraggled. He had lost his hen years ago. Why he wasn’t slaughtered in him prime is beyond me. No one keeps a domestic turkey, no matter how “natural” he looks – old turkey meat is ghastly.

I had gone into my mare’s enclosure to give her a little clean up. It was spring and she was a wreck. Her hair was shedding and hung in hanks; her whole left side was coated with mud. It was too hot to hold onto the winter coat. I needed to help her out of it.

Before I could pull out the shedder (a pear-shaped blade with a serrated edge) he was on me. Making a sound like an air pump, his talons scrabbling at my chest, he flapped his scraggly wings in my face. It scared the crap out of me. I knocked him back on his butt and picked up a loose board and whacked him. He made his air pump sound and jumped at me, talons flayed, wings flapping. I chased him into the fence whacking him repeatedly with the board. He ran away.

What do a 26-year-old Arabian mare and a heritage bronze tom turkey (with most of his tail feathers gone) have in common? Was it love at first sight? She seemed as fond of him as he of her. They would stand side-by-side, she at her hay trough and he next to her, waiting patiently for her to drop oats carelessly to the ground where he gobbled them up.

I tried making friends by feeding him corn from a pie pan. He would rush to the fence and stab at me with his beak while I shoved the pan underneath. Several times while he was fully occupied with the corn, I tried to sneak into the enclosure and each time he would lunge at me.

I decided I would ask the experts, the rare heritage turkey discussion group, one of a kind on the Internet. The response was somewhat less than I expected. One participant wrote: "Throw a garbage can over him when you want to groom your mare. Then he won’t bother you." I didn't think there was a garbage can big enough to get over him.

Another said: "Males will protect any female that is nearby and I am not surprised he has bonded with your mare. It happened to me. The only way to stop this is to remove him from the enclosure."  I couldn't get close to him much less, get him physically out of the pasture. My landlady was unsympathetic because she had no problem with him at all.

As the spring moved into summer, I stopped trying to make friends with him. I gave up trying to give treats to my mare. I got a job and never had enough time to solve the problem. So when I found his body, I felt a great sense of relief. I walked out to my mare's pasture and fed her an apple.

He will graduate from Berkeley in 2008

Cato has had an eventful year. He took his place in the pantheon of worldwide terrorists, targeting edible delectable rodents and birds. His kill count for 2005 was 139. Fifty-two of these were migrating birds, thus taking his criminal activities into the international realm. Although he has no political or religious philosophy, he has a strong instinct to kill and a large belly.  He coerced me into making a video tape of some of his captives in an effort to elicit money from friends and relatives. Unfortunately this tactic was unsuccessful as he could not overcome the urge to kill in the end. No major networks aired the tape, citing the violent and bloody content. CBS News, in particular, objected to his eating his prey wholesale and the close up (provided by me) of the blood dripping from his chin.

His psychologist suggested I encourage a more positive path for him, so I pushed him to apply to UC Berkeley. I am please to say that he was accepted at the Hass School of Business. He began his first semester last fall and is doing well as an accounting major. He is an intelligent fellow with a head for numbers! He will graduate from Berkeley in 2008.

Cato remains a refreshing amalgamation of predator, keen to kill anything that moves within his field of vision that looks good to eat, and loving son, ready to flop on my stomach for a brisk pat.  Raising this one has made me realize how body armor is sometimes necessary when your boy is aggressive and armed.  And, while is he a quiet soul, when he is hungry the whole neighborhood knows it. Aren't children wonderful?