Blinded by Poultry

I thought this week that I might note on the blog that I nearly hit a turkey while driving home from work. Yes, roadkill could have been our Thanksgiving feast.

A rafter of wild turkeys flew in front of the car, blinding me for a short instant.

Little did I know that poultry would blind our family once again this week.

Tonight, while frying chicken on the stove, I added a bit of water to the sizzling hot pan. Looking back a poor cooking choice.

Smoke suddenly rolled and billowed, seemingly direct from my hand itself. Sizzling. Billowing.

Abby’s eyes the size of baseballs; amazement. A science experiment for dinner.

Her immediate reaction, “I can’t see you Mommy” (good humor for a 3-year-old!).

We laughed as washcloths were used to waft away the evidence…and prevent the smoke detector’s shriek.

Blinded by the chicken, but a good dinner none the less.

It’s True. Roadkill for Dinner.

Away from the format of julieabbymac, I chose to share the personal story of a blog follower. Any misrepresentation is unintentional, but not likely.

Consider this the abbreviated version:

She called. “Mom I hit a deer”. She was ok; the deer was not. He laid, blood draining from his mouth, dying in front of her. For what seemed liked hours, she waited and watched. The officer ultimately arrived, about 20 minutes later, to write the report. Signing the statement, that cop then asked if she’d like to keep this animal. Hmm? One call to her husband, the fate of their future changed. The officer helped her lift the deer into the back of her minivan, putting a plastic Target bag over its head to contain the blood. This helpful man ensures the need for field dressing is known. Hmm? Her husband and her, not hunters. Field dressing? Gutting! Her now officer friend offered to meet them after he finished his shift; he was up to the task. Heading home, it was clear that the impact had cracked the radiator. The temperature was climbing and smoke started billowing. Murphy’s Law. Another stop. The state trooper could likely not see through the cloud as he approached; he heard the most unlikely story and witnessed a temperature gauge in distress. No one could make this up; he let her finish the trip home. Later that night, it was time for the gutting. The minivan, now out of commission, was unable to chauffeur the venison. She and her hubby transferred the animal from the van to his trunk, leaving trails of blood that can only lead one to assume it a kill scene. As per instructions, they met at the game farm. Guts could, here, be left in the ditch. While waiting for the officer’s arrival, another cop approached the scene. Curious as to the nature of their loitering, he advanced with little expectation of the tale he would hear. The trunk was opened to reveal the creature; the sitcom-like adventure shared. He left them luck and a smile. Soon the guy for the inners was there to assist. Post processing, deer back to the trunk and, ultimately, hung from the rafters at home. She called. “Mom I want the head.” Maybe she was not ok after all. Let’s just keep the roadkill for dinner.