No Thanks

**This is post number 150!**

     Although this is my one hundred and fiftieth entry, it is bitter sweet. I previously wrote about my difficulty with holidays. Click on the link to read the post, Why I Cry On The 4th Of July. Thanksgiving Day is just as challenging for me. This time, which is usually reserved for family and friends, is arguably the longest day of the year for me; twenty four hours of painful memories.

I will do my best to be strong, but this entry will be a struggle for me.

     I always found Thanksgiving to be the best holiday of the year. I come from a large family and everyone lived in the Greater Boston area. The food was amazing, and the company was top notch. Everything changed during the autumn of 1985. (I haven’t enjoyed Thanksgiving, since then!)

My parents purchased a home in the town of Brockton, just a few miles south of Boston. Our house bordered the woods and we had several pet turkeys. The king Tom Turkey was Gobbler, a polygamist foul who was large and dominant. My favorite of the flock was the youngest stag, named Gob.

We had a fenced in property so the large birds were allowed to run wild. Each night, Gob would sleep in the large fir tree, which shaded my bedroom window. It was as if I had my own security guard watching over me.

Each morning, Gob would call out and wake me; I never had to set my alarm clock. Most of the turkeys remained wary of humans, but I developed a great friendship with Gob; he was my first and most favorite pet. He was like a member of the family.

My best friend and neighbor was a young Native American girl named Pocahotass; she belonged to the Wampanoag tribe. Pocahotass practically lived at our home; we rode our bikes all over town, going on mini adventures with Gob always riding shotgun in the front basket of my bicycle.

I can remember Pocahotass’ father asking me about my future plans and I responded, “I am not sure what I will be doing, but I know that whatever it is, I will be partnered with my best friend.” I always felt that Pocahotass was a friend, but Chief Massasoit believed that I would marry his lovely daughter, one day. He always teased me; he would laugh whenever I became shy.

Chief Massasoit is a brilliant man, and he was probably right; I would have married his beautiful daughter. I didn’t think anything could ever break the bond that we shared, but the Thanksgiving of 1985 changed everything.

***I am too emotional to continue writing this story. I am going to close the laptop and give myself some time to regain my composure!***

     I apologize for my inability to remain professional, but this was arguably the most difficult period in my life.

The day before Thanksgiving, I spent the day in Boston with family and friends while Pocahotass helped her mom with the grocery shopping. When I returned in the evening, I immediately ran to the backyard to see my favorite pet, Gob. As I walked towards the back of the house, I noticed that the lights were off in Pocahotass’ home; I figured she was out to dinner with her parents. When I arrived at Gob’s favorite fir tree, my heart was almost broken. Gob was sitting at the base of the tree, sobbing uncontrollably.

I attempted to comfort him but he was a turkey; I had no idea why he was crying. I picked up my pet and brought him into my room. I created a comfortable nest for him and provided a bowl of treats; I filled the dish with green beans, corn, bread pieces, and cucumbers. Any other day, Gob would have devoured the mix, but he didn’t eat a thing. I had no idea what he was going through.

In the morning, I woke and checked on Gob. I couldn’t believe what I witnessed; my little pet was dead. After crying for several hours, my mother walked into my room to check on me. I explained what happened and she revealed a horrible truth. (I will never forget her words!)

“Your little pet most likely died from heartache; he probably couldn’t deal with the fact that his entire family was killed yesterday.”

I couldn’t believe what she was saying. To my dismay, the turkeys were not pets; they were food. The rest of the flock was sold to friends of my parents, except for Gobbler; he was served at our dinner table. The rest of the family saw food; I saw my favorite pet’s dad. (It was a living hell, which I have to relive every year!)

I ran to Pocahotass’ house and revealed the traumatic information. To my surprise, my best friend didn’t care. She believed that it was ok to kill turkeys and serve them for Thanksgiving Day dinner. To this day, I cannot forgive her; I can’t forgive her. We are no longer friends!

In honor of my favorite pet, Gob; I will never eat turkey again!

     Enjoy one of the many murdered turkey with your family and friends, if you must, but please excuse me for being appalled! Would I like some turkey on Thanksgiving Day? No Thanks!

This year, I plan on guarding my fish tank; You never know when these murderers will have a desire to eat catfish! (To read about my fish, click the link! Tank Life)



Published by Peter Teixeira

First and foremost, I enjoy writing stories. I recently completed my first novel, and I successfully co-wrote a short film script, which won the grand prize in the words made easy competition.

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  1. This post is making me dig with the fork into the chicken nugget I was about to eat, trying to find some kind of soul or at least a divine sign that would tell me I’m doing something wrong … As none have occurred…. hummmmm! Nice….
    Sorry to differ…
    Great post!

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