by BobA. Troutt
*****
Giggle’s Holiday Book
Gobble, Gobble, Gobble
“Cock-a-doodle-do,” cried Henry the rooster as he stood on the fence looking about the barnyard. “Cock-a-doodle-do,” he cried again.
It was a typical morning on the farm in the little community of Weeping Creek.
“Good morning, girls,” he said.
The hens took a deep breath and fell back in a dizzy dream as they replied, “Good morning, Henry.”
Yep, it was another typical morning on the Bradley’s farm off Hickory Nut Road. Or was it? Suddenly from across the barnyard you could hear the cries and moans of someone in a terrible shape.
“Ohohohohoh,” came the cries. “Ohohohohoh,” came the moans.
Everyone in the barnyard froze in their tracks.
“Ohohohohoh.”
There it was again. Suddenly, out from behind the barn, stepped Cole Turkey. His eyeballs were inflated with dark rings around them. His “goosle” was dry and he had a whining cough. As Cole’s eyes shifted from side to side he constantly repeated, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.”
“What on earth is wrong with bird?” asked Henry.
“Gobble, gobble, gobble,” replied Cole.
Quickly, the hens raced over to help him sit down to rest.
“Gobble, gobble, gobble,” he cried out.
Immediately, Henry took charge and told the hens to go get Winfred, the farmer—and hurry! The hens flew about in hysterics, cackling to the high heavens. Their feathers flew everywhere as they scattered about and disappeared. Henry did all he could to comfort Cole.
“Hang in there, old buddy,” he said. “You’re going to be all right. We’ve been through too much together to give up now.”
“Gobble, gobble, gobble,” cried Cole.
Hurriedly, Winfred rushed out to the barnyard to see what was wrong. When he got there, he saw Cole sitting on a stump looking awfully sick and saying, “Gobble, gobble, gobble,” over and over.
Carefully, Winfred looked him over; he was puzzled and didn’t know what to do. “I have never seen anything like this before,” he said.
“What on earth could it be? If he’s not better in a little while, I’ll call Doc Creekside to come and look at him.”
“Do you think he’ll be all right?” asked Henry.
“I don’t know,” replied Winfred. “But, I’ll keep my eye on him.”
“Gobble, gobble, gobble,” cried Cole. “Ohohohohoh.”
As Winfred started to walk away, he paused for a moment to think. Looking back at Cole, he wondered if Cole was putting on an act because Thanksgiving was only a week away. He’s a pretty slick bird, he thought. He’ll do anything to save his neck. Then Winfred remembered last Thanksgiving when Cole disappeared until after Easter, claiming he had amnesia and wandered about until he got better. Well, I can’t take the chance, he thought. He may be sick.
“Ohohohohoh,” cried Cole.
As Winfred went on about his work, he could hear Cole in the distance, “Ohohohohoh, gobble, gobble, gobble.”
Shortly, Winfred went back over to him. Cole sat with his head in his hands crying, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.”
“Well, I guess I will have to call Doc Creekside,” said Winfred.
Cole fell over onto the ground and kicked his legs up into the air.
Henry pushed the crowd back, “Give him air and some room,” he said.
The hens all cackled. The cows mooed and the old mare hee-hawed and Henry went “cock-a-doodle-doo.”
It wasn’t long until Doc got there. Luckily, he was a few farms over on another call.
“Good morning, Winfred,” said Doc.
“Good morning, Doc,” replied Winfred.
“What seems to be the problem?” asked Doc.
Carefully, Winfred explained while Doc looked Cole over.
“Will he be all right?” asked Henry.
“I don’t know,” replied Doc. “I don’t know. Now let’s see. Open your mouth, Cole, and let me see. Uhuh, a dry goosle, that’s not good.”
Carefully, he looked into his eyes.
“Inflated eyeballs with circles,” he warned. “That’s not good.”
Cole started to cough.
“A whining cough, too, I see. Look at the end of my pencil, Cole. Shifty eyes. Gobble, gobble, gobble is all he can say?” asked Doc.
“That’s all,” replied Winfred.
Carefully, Doc eased up and rubbed his chin.
“What’s wrong?” questioned Henry.
“I don’t know for sure,” replied Doc.
“Will he be all right?” asked Henry.
“Well, we’ll just have to see,” he stated.
Winfred motioned Doc over to the side. Everyone waited patiently.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Winfred.
“It looks to me like Cole has come down with Gobble Fever.”
“Gobble Fever!” they all cried.
Henry spoke up, “What’s Gobble Fever?”
“Well, it is a fever turkeys get and all that they can say is gobble, gobble, gobble. He has all the symptoms.”
“He does?” asked Henry.
“Yep, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Why, you can’t even eat a turkey who has the fever. It will make you sick.”
“But how, Doc, can you know for sure?” asked Winfred.
“Well, there is one sure way and that is all his feathers will fall off.”
“All of them?” asked Henry.
“Yes, all of them,” replied Doc.
“Ohohohohoh,” moaned Cole as he sat there on the stump.
“Is there anything we can do for him?” asked Winfred.
“No, nothing that I can think of,” replied Doc. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
Slowly, everyone went their way. Cole sat alone on the stump, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.”
The day soon passed and night fell. Night went on and out behind the barn you could hear, “Oh—e—i—oh—u—e—i—oh,”
A flickering light from behind the barn and the faint oh—e—i—oh—u—e—i—oh became louder. Winfred and Doc peeped around the corner of the barn. They saw Cole plucking his feathers out one by one.
“Oh—e—i—oh—u—e—i—oh,” screamed Cole as he plucked his feathers with one hand and held a flashlight in the other hand.
Both of them laughed. They couldn’t keep from thinking about Cole’s trick backfiring on him.
“I told you, Doc,” whispered Winfred, “that I believed he was playing possum.”
“You were right, Winfred, and that business about the feathers let the cat out of the bag.”
“I know that Cole Turkey will do anything he can to save his own skin around Thanksgiving,” said Winfred. “Look at that old geezer now. He is about as naked as a J-bird.”
Winfred and Doc watched Cole pluck his feathers out one by one, from around the corner of the barn you could hear the oh—e—oh—i—oh. From around the other corner of the barn you could hear, hahahahaha.
“What a bird, what a bird,” laughed Winfred. “He thought his goose was cooked. Hey, Doc, why don’t you come over Thanksgiving and have dinner with us. Betty is cooking a nice big butterball turkey we bought at the store.”
“I might do that, Winfred.”
Early the next morning, you could hear Henry the rooster crow, “Cock-a-doodle-do—Cock-a-doddle-doo.”
As the sun rose once again upon the old barnyard, there sat old Cole Turkey naked with not one feather on him saying, “Gobble, gobble, gobble.”
