“Were you wanting a few of those birds?” a lean man
in a blue shirt and overalls asked, as he stepped up to the other side of the
pen.
“Yes, please,” Gypsy remarked. “Four actually, a
Tom and some hens.”
Picking them up, the man made quick work of
sorting out the males from females, before doing a quick count of the remaining
birds.
“Tell you what, I’ll throw in a forth hen for free
if you’d like her. I’ve got too many hens here at the moment.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Gypsy
replied, as Rogue glanced down at the cage he carried and back at the birds.
“I think we need a bigger cage,” he suggested.
“Least it’s not a bigger boat,” Gypsy shot back,
giggling.
“I’ll run back to the truck and get one,” Rogue
offered.
“Forget it, you’ll get lost in this place if we
leave you to your own devices,” added George. “That or have another unfortunate
encounter with a guinea fowl.”
“Nope, only one I’ve had an unfortunate encounter
with today has been you.”
“Ha, ha,” remarked George, before heading back in
the direction of the truck. By the time he returned, the money for the turkeys
had changed hands and Gypsy and Rogue found themselves the new owners of a
flock of young turkeys.
“What’s wrong? You look like you just swallowed a
lemon?” George asked Gypsy as he set the cage down beside the pen.
“He’s named them.”
“What? Why?”
“To make it easier to call them when we want to
feed them,” Rogue admitted.
The man in the overalls snickered but had the good
graces to cover it up with a series of coughs, which was more than George and
Gypsy managed to do, as the pair howled with laughter, prompting a series of
gobbles from the turkeys, who’d fled to the other side of the pen, fortunately,
cordoned off from the rest of the flock.
“What?”
“Dude, you don’t name the food.”
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