 "Photo: Laura Grant/the Round Up")
I knew nothing about turkeys before Friday.
Sure, I like my turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich. But, I had a vision. I wanted to meet a turkey farmer. I wanted to buy a turkey, and I wanted to eat it for Thanksgiving. Yumm … hmmm?
I looked on campus (this is an Ag school), but found nothing.
"We've got no room for turkeys," Ron "the Poultry Man" Parker said. "The only turkeys are in the administration building ... I'd like to get a lot of these chickens out of here," he added.
So where could I get a live turkey? Well, after making a few phone calls to local butchers, I got in contact with Kenny Carter of Truth or Consequences. Kenny said he didn't have one but would spread the word around the greater T or C area. Sweet, I'll just wait. Or I could try and get another turkey story.
Sisbarro is giving away a turkey with a test drive, right? Wrong.
After taking a spin in a GMC Sonoma with Ruben, my salesman, I was expecting at least a dead turkey. Nope. Instead Sisbarro treated me to a $15 gift card to Albertson's.
To: Carson Smith
From: Sisbarro
Message: Turkey
Lame. But I could use some groceries. Still, I wanted that call. A gobble at least.
I got it. Shellii Huff of Las Palomas called me Friday at 8:15 a.m. with good news.
"I've got one left," Huff said. "It is 31 pounds."
At the Huff farm: Live Turkey: $15, Killed, Plucked/Dressed: $25
"Does it have a name?" I asked before hanging up.
"The kids call her Tiny."
She gave me directions to her Las Palomas house, 71 miles away, and I planned to meet with her that afternoon. "You'll see a blue doublewide. There are a lot of birds in the back. Huff is on the mailbox."
I didn't have class Friday, so I figured this would be a learning experience. My friend Chrissy said she'd love to come along. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity," she explained to someone who questioned why.
The Huffs have many birds: mallards, geese, chickens, cocks, tom turkeys and hens.
I was in the market for hen, and Tiny was one of three that were in the yard.
"The rest (of the hens) are sold," Huff said. "The better one is going to be saved." I assumed for a Christmas feast.
As far as quality goes, Tiny was all I could expect. White, dumb and ugly.
Sasha, Shellii's daughter shows birds. She showed me her prize from the Southern New Mexico State Fair. Sasha is the Bantam Mallard Champion. "Her love is for the ducks," her mom said.
We boxed Tiny up, well, Shellii did. I don't really know how to handle a turkey. With holes in the box and the box in my back seat, we were ready to go.
"Fifteen dollars please."
"Do you take Albertson's gift cards?"
Apparently there isn't an Albertson's in Las Palomas.
"That's a cute puppy," I said as Chrissie and I were leaving.
"You want it? Take it," Shellii said. She was serious. Two puppies were brought to her from a fellow citizen, who found them at the soccer field. "They brought them to me because I have a lot of animals. Please. Take it."
I looked at Chrissie and she picked up the eight-week old pup. I said yes and took it home.
Turkey, some feed and a puppy. "I'll give you $20," I said. Done.
Meanwhile, back at the house, my roommates weren't expecting this. I told them what I was going to do, but I don't think they believed I would actually get a turkey. And a dog, too.
I put the turkey in the crate Chrissie had and left it in my backyard. People came home and I tried to explain things, but it was difficult. Loud gobbles, and nibbles on my ears, started the Big Day. I put the pup, Heidi, a name given by Sasha, outside and looked at the cage and the big bird inside. I knew what I had to do that day. I just didn't know how I felt about it. My dad shot a bird with a b.b. gun, but only to stun it. I shot a bird on a telephone wire with a slingshot in high school, but killing really isn't my forté. I don't even like killing bugs in my backyard. But I don't eat bugs.
The hype was big. There was a weigh in, and we sized each other up. I had tools to choose from. First there was a hatchet. It was heavy, but not sharp. Option two came from my friend Mark. A long, sharp knife. The other side was serrated — for sawing.
I tried to focus before the deed. Chopping motions on the cutting block and in my head. What I didn't focus on was the side of the knife, when chopping. I chopped with serrated side. Bad call. I stunned it, probably breaking its neck. The wings flapped and the head was loosely attached. I switch-sided and finished it off with a few more whacks. Carson victored in the fourth.
The crowd of 20 had mixed emotions after seeing the headless hen. Most hadn't seen anything like this before. They were interested, disgusted and ready to leave.
For me, there was a feeling of relief. But also a pain in my stomach and … wait a minute. My finger was bleeding. I couldn't really feel the pain, but it certainly didn't look normal. I cleaned it up — the finger and the soon to be food.
I bandaged my wounds and drank a Budweiser.
As for the turkey, I soaked it, plucked it, singed it and dressed it. I pulled out guts, premature eggs — bile. It felt like cleaning out a pumpkin. I rinsed it and wrapped it.
Currently, Tiny is on ice. I'm planing on cooking the turkey tonight, if anyone is interested, hunt me down and I'll invite you to my early Turkey Day — a day to give thanks for pilgrims and turkey sandwiches.
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