Lucy's Journal

 Lucy’s Journal — November 19th

Dear Journal,

Today was supposed to be simple. Just a quick little adventure to round up a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Easy, right? WRONG. I should’ve known things would go sideways the moment Kiwi started sharpening a tiny fork like he was in some kind of prison movie.

The crew assembled at dawn:

• Peanut, acting like he was the world’s greatest hunter (he is not).

• Kiwi, perched on my shoulder, muttering something about “maximum gobble extraction.”

• The Quackers, waddling in formation like a discount military unit.
  And of course, me — clearly the only sane one.

Our first stop was the edge of the woods, where Peanut claimed he saw “the biggest turkey ever, like, NFL-lineman big.” I doubted it, but the Quackers were hyped, so in we went.

That’s when we heard it.
GOBBLE.
Not a friendly gobble.
A warning gobble.

Peanut bolted immediately. So much for the world’s greatest hunter.

Kiwi, on the other hand, puffed up like he was ready to rumble. “Show yourself, feathered coward!” he screeched.

Then it stepped out.

The. Biggest. Turkey. I have EVER seen.
This thing looked like it bench-pressed pumpkins for fun. It glared at us like we were dinner.

The Quackers retreated in reverse. Kiwi whispered, “We may need backup.” I whispered back, “We are the backup.”

The turkey took one step toward us and Peanut came flying out of a pile of leaves yelling, “RETREAT! RETREAT!” Kiwi immediately abandoned the mission and dove into my coat pocket. The Quackers formed a panicked V-formation and flapped away even though they cannot fly. It was chaos.

We made it home with:

• No turkey

• A story

• A vow to buy our Thanksgiving bird frozen from the store like normal humans and animals

Peanut swears he wasn’t scared. Kiwi claims the turkey “cheated by being huge.” The Quackers have pledged never to speak of today again.

As for me? I’m just grateful we escaped without becoming part of its Thanksgiving dinner.

Until next time,
Lucy 🦃🦆🐾