TURKEYS FOR CHRISTMAS!

TURKEYS FOR CHRISTMAS!

A Story by Peter Rogerson
"

Ratty contemplating the coming season.

"

It was dawn on the turkey farm and the head bird was crowing loud enough to waken the dead.

Inside the farmhouse, in the bedroom, the farmer was snoring loud enough to also make the deceased stir uneasily in their graves.

Down in the sewer a fat black rat giggled as he got stuck in a drain pipe and his girlfriend rat had to nip his bottom until he squirmed free.

What was that for?” he asked.

Well, you were stuck and I needed to squeeze past,” she moaned.

It’s them up there,” he replied, indicating the top of the sewer pipe with a matted black head. “They’re all singing from the same hymn sheet and it ain’t half funny!”

I don’t hear no singing!”

Well, pin your lug holes back, and concentrate. I mean, that turkey! Nothing’s ever crowed louder than that, not while I’ve been down in this cesspit of a homestead swimming in poo!”

So what’s he so happy about?”

Well, he’s been listening to the farmer, silly old fool that he is. Apparently everyone’s all keyed up about something they call Xmas or something like that.”

Really?”

They sing songs about it! I’ve been working the whole thing out! Apparently there was this baby born in a stable and laid to rest on a horse’s food trough while three kings in their splendour popped along to check it out...”

What’s a king?”

Some rich bloke. Liked looking at the stars...”

What are stars?”

You must’ve seen ‘em. Lights in the sky, they are. Anyway, one was hovering, they say, over where that baby was sleeping.”

And the turkey is happy about that? Why is he happy about lights in the sky and babies and kings and stuff?”

It’s to do with what the farmer and his missus do. And all the other bipedal folk who sing the same songs and tell the same stories.” The rat shook its fat black head sadly.

What do they do that brings so many tears to your eyes, Ratty?”

Oh they give each other presents. Sometimes quite flash presents, like stuff that’s hard for them to afford. Especially to the kids. They give their kids all manner of fancy things. Like puters.”

What’s a puter?”

A thing. It’s a thing. Anyway, they cost quite a lot and the kids get one each even if they don’t want one. Then there’s phones, whatever they might be. The kids get loads of phones. And their all top of the range things. Brilliant!”

What’s brilliant?”

That the kids are so loved they get stuff like phones, that I don’t fully comprehend. And there’s the booze.”

They get the kids booze?”

No, this time not the kids. They have it themselves. The turkeys are full of news about it. The bipedal idiots get unsteady on their two feet and fall about all over the place, laughing as if there’s going to be an end to laughing sooner or later. And, you know, there will be. They know it.”

Sounds silly to me.”

It is daft. Then there’s Xmas dinner. They all have Xmas dinner on a certain day. This is the bit the turkeys don’t know anything about. They don’t even guess it.”

Why not?”

“’Cause it’s what the bipedal types eat. They eat turkeys by the score. Dozens of ‘em till there’s hardly any turkeys left. And, you know what, those turkeys are so caught up in the whole story, the baby and stuff, the presents, the phones, the ‘puters, that they’re looking forwards to it themselves. It’s like a death wish. It’s so damned stupid I could cry, but I won’t, cause we get the drippings down here, the left overs, the sprouts that are too soft, the tates that are too hard and the wishbone… we get the wishbone!”

You mean, those turkeys actually want to be on the farmer’s table, being all gobbled up?”

The rat laughed. “You’ve got it in one!” he cackled, “but you ain’t heard the funniest bit!”

I haven’t?”

No, you darned will haven’t. It’s the farmer and his folk. They’re just like the turkeys, each and every one of them. ‘Cause when they nip out to choose their new leader...”

They choose a leader?”

They choose a whole parliament of them, like the owls do.”

Why do they do that?”

Oh, it’s to do with having someone to blame when stuff goes wrong. You know.”

So?”

Well, when they go out to make their choice you know what they’re going to be doing?

No.”

They’re going to be like the turkeys loving Christmas without really knowing the downside of all that love. They’re going to vote Conservative!”

What’s that?”

Oh, you’ll find out when the gravy runs out and our own pickings get to be lean down here. The conservatives, they’re the takers, and when they’ve taken all they can even you and I will go hungry. Now get a move on.”

Why?”

Well, I’m making a fatball down here, bits of rancid grease, old bones, the odd discarded nappy, for when times get hard when the conservatives get in. We’re not going to exactly starve, not you and me, not if I labour hard and make our juicy fatball in time!”

Yummy!”

© Peter Rogerson 06.11.19

© 2019 Peter Rogerson


My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register




Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

130 Views
Added on November 6, 2019
Last Updated on November 6, 2019
Tags: choices, turkeys, Christmas

Author

Peter Rogerson
Peter Rogerson

Mansfield, Nottinghamshire, United Kingdom



About
I am 80 years old, but as a single dad with four children that I had sole responsibility for I found myself driving insanity away by writing. At first it was short stories (all lost now, unfortunately.. more..

Writing