Hoping to escape its gloomy fate, the turkey sent a picture of itself, feathers spread and glistening, to the White House. Sadly, Drumstick and Wishbone were selected. Weighed down with anxiety, it flew up to the large lower branch of the tree to meditate. After several hours thoughtfully contemplating death, it floated again to the ground.
“If I must die, I will die in the great tradition of the mythic heroes. I will sacrifice myself for the good of others.” It strutted over to the chopping block, laid its neck down and bravely waited for the axe to fall.
What transpired next was hardly noteworthy. Cleaned, injected with butter, frozen, thawed, dressed and baked in a hellish oven. What was not noticed though was its soul wafting up to turkey heaven with a sweet and savory fragrance.
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