I just wanted walk out the front door like a normal person, shake out my dust cloth, and come back in.
A glance out the windows to the east told me that the front door wasn't a good choice.
A large Eastern Wild Turkey gobbler was strutting not far from the house.
He stepped into the sunlight, his beard and tail feathers catching the sun's first light as he pivoted slowly,
dragging his wing feathers on the ground...
...every move calculated to impress the hens.
It didn't seem to be working, and he paused for a bite to eat before resuming his display.
Little does he know how he impacts his audience behind the windows.
Turkeys have an acute sense of sight and hearing, and Don and I often find ourselves sneaking around the house in the mornings,
even ducking below the windows to avoid their sharp eyes, and speaking in whispers when they are near the house.
Not wanting to disturb the show, I thought I might go out the back door, but to the west a chorus line was forming up.
Their short, stubby beards identified the participants as jakes, probably just under a year old,
but they already know the steps of this dance as if they had been practicing for years.
So basically, I was trapped indoors.
As if that isn't enough, as of late, we can't walk down the driveway without three pair of wood ducks taking off from the pond in swift flight,
complaining loudly about the disruption.
They've been here for a little over a week, and we hope one of the pairs, at least, will nest here.
Don't get me wrong; I'm not looking for sympathy here.
The turkeys tend to make their way slowly around the house, walking in and out of the woods, so I'll make my break when they're out of sight.
If I've learned anything during my time in the Ozarks, it's this: