31 SIMMONS ROAD, TAUMARUNUI, NORTH ISLAND, NEW ZEALAND
EMAIL US or Phone 0064 7 896 8901
I LOVE WRITING STORIES ABOUT OUR FARM ANIMALS.
I WILL BE CHANGING THEM EACH MONTH SO PLEASE ENJOY!
MURKY THE TURKEY
For some reason we are getting the uncalled for reputation of being suckers for taking in unwanted or difficult animals. I must admit I have a problem with the NO word but John on the other hand is always saying “No, no, no, oh alright!” We have an understanding when it comes to the Farmyard - as long as the animals are not in his garage or his bed (it’s been known to happen) that’s okay. 
Last year a call came in about a young hand - reared turkey, very friendly, no trouble and would we like to have it.
Sudden visions of plump roast turkey for Christmas immediately filled my mind and I felt that even John would be impressed with my freebie.
However on arrival the one condition of handing the bird over was that it remained a pet. My vision tilted slightly and turned into an exercise in painting skills. Yes, he would become my plump Rubens painting......with feathers.
So Murky the Turkey settled into the routine of keeping the teenagers terrified, pecking the spiders off the bottom half of the house and putty out of the french doors, not one of his more endearing habits!
He did however have one redeeming feature - he knew I was the boss, so the two of us spent many a happy hour pottering in the spring sunshine.
Over the early summer period I noticed a change in Turks allegiance. We had set up the croquet on the lawn and he was spending a great deal of time chatting up the red flag. Any slight movement with the wind and you could hear a soft chortle come from his throat. He was in love!
Then just before Christmas he disappeared. I knew it - one of those golfers had been eyeing him up for dinner. All they had to do was make a move with the golf club in the night. I was on the warpath!
But before marching over to the clubrooms, reality set in and I managed to get a few of the less terrified family members to help me look for him.
It took us half an hour to locate the body. He was stuffed under a flax bush - hurt, bruised, battered, even dead maybe......but no, he was still alive! Oh joy, my baby was back in one piece!
Carefully picking him up we discovered not a poor bruised and battered bird but a lovely nest of nine eggs.....our Murky was a Murkette.
I must admit, I often wondered why his looks weren’t all that manly and the red flag had always had me a bit puzzled.