Jake’s Stand
Prompt: Scene from life
Jake stood on the stump of a long-fallen canyon live oak, surveying his flock. The hungry wild turkeys were getting restless, uneasy. Jake mirrored their uneasiness inwardly. Normally he couldn’t stand the idea of the regal wild turkeys acting like a gang, like a rafter. That was beneath them. Wild turkeys are supposed to be regal, wise. But the turkey vultures had wronged them yet again.
At first, the turkey vultures came and overtook the wild turkeys’ territory. Jake had stayed his flock, opting to welcome the vultures as valuable contributors to the community, keeping everything clean. When confronted with the vultures’ favorite habit of regurgitation, Jake shushed the bird-ists, chastising them for their xenophobia. At the advice of his squirrel friend, Chris, he had even reached out to a local kestral to give a lecture on the ecosystem and the importance of nutrient cycling (a kestral because they were both very smart and too small to prey on turkeys.) Dr. Sparverius was a hit. Chris was always great at managing the animals of the forest and keeping the peace, and also getting the good acorns down from the trees before the woodpeckers started hiding them away.
But then, the turkey vultures started emotionally assaulting the most vulnerable of Jake’s flock, those in molt. The vultures would fly above and make tell the poor naked bastards that they smelled too and that their feathers helped cover up how stinky they truly were. Chris always got cagey when asked about this, so Jake thought it best he leave the issue alone.The true “stink” of the matter could not be verified by any of the turkeys, obviously, and it’s not like it would matter to them anyway, but I’m sure it still hurt to hear it.
Most recently, the turkey vultures started encroaching on their sleeping trees. The California winter had been harsh, and a good sleeping tree was a godsend, especially during those 40°F nights. The thought of the younger turkeys enduring another cold night caused his feathers to ruffle involuntarily.
But they were turkeys! Jake thought, while he preened his feathers absentmindedly. They would just hunker down, literally for the warmth it would bring, and make due. Jake adjusted his wattle and let out an authoritative gobble to let the flock know he was ready to speak.
“It has come time to leave this place.” The younger turkeys looked around, somewhat alarmed. “I don’t mean forever, I mean, for like, today. We have to forage, remember? We’re turkeys. It’s mostly what we do.” The younger turkeys calmed themselves and began foraging in place. “No, forage somewhere else, we just ate here yesterday, remember yesterday?” A few of the older hens clucked disapprovingly at the young foragers. “Alright then, now that that’s straight, let’s all cross the road. We haven’t been across the road to forage in a little while. We might even find some bird seed the hyoomans put out. And we can visit our friends in the West Egg flock.” The old hens clucked disapprovingly again, this time at Jake’s last sentence.
The flock made its way towards the road with Jake at the helm. Jake and a few of the more precocious jakes were first to reach the road. As he began to brief them on proper road crossing technique, shadows passed overhead. As he moved from what a car was to how to listen for them, the shadows grew larger and larger, swooping in great circles. The younger turkeys looked alarmed, but Jake continued with his lecture at a steady and clearly rehearsed pace. Jake heard the vultures touch down behind him, apparently on the other side of the road. Jake continued with his instruction until he had completed the “tips for daytime crossing” and taken any questions. There were none, only wide-eyed stares. After the appropriately long awkward silence that often accompanies the inquiry into questions, Jake turned around in a way he hoped would convey calm, cool, and confidence. His wattle even swayed in exactly the fashion he wished.
“Why hel-Lo there Cath.” He was secretly furious at the inopportune moment his vocal chords decided to crack. “This is our side, we got here first, Jake.” replied Cath, firmly.
“All we’d like to do is forage for seeds and berries and maybe a bug or two."
"You common turkeys better keep to the East Egg, if you know what’s good for you. Jay wouldn’t listen to us either, when we so kindly offered him the same deal you have before you now.”
“I thought we could at least be civil, Cath. What does our foraging even matter to you? Your kind eat carrion.”
“We prefer the term ‘sun aged’, thank you very much. And it’s just a sign of the times, Jakey, we’re just the fittest.”
The jakes behind him were getting rowdy. And for good reason, thought Jake. Were they not turkeys? Should they not stand and fight for not only their flock, but all turkeys? How dare these birds refer to themselves as turkey vultures, they had none of the turkey values. What is in a name? Everything, for these maligned turkeys. But for no longer. Today, they would take back their forest, their courage, and their name. Jake stepped forward onto the pavement. “Oh-ho ho, what is this? Jakey is getting feisty. Alright boys, let’s give them the West Egg treatment.” Vultures began hopping down from the surrounding trees, assembling behind Cathartes.
Jake surreptitiously clucked orders to his flock and arrangements were made. The older turkeys and those with nests back home retreated to the back and out of harm’s way. The younger turkeys excitedly discussed the plan of attack amongst themselves.
There was a frantic rustling above them, in the trees, too small to be another vulture. Chris tumbled into the open, almost falling out of the tree and in between the two flocks of birds. The interest of the infantry vultures was piqued.
“No— no …fighting…!” the squirrel panted. “We—can—work this out!”
Cath laughed at Chris’ attempt to quell the turkey-on-turkey storm. “Little rodent, I’d eat you in a second…if you were already dead, ideally several days…anyway, move out of the way.”
Chris held his ground. Jake apprehensively sidled up next to the smaller-than-average Western grey. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jake hissed.
“Be cool, be cool”, was the only thing Chris could squeak out before Cath raised a lance-like talon and hit him hard in the side, knocking Chris to the ground and shedding first blood.
“CHRIS!” Jake squawked, rushing to the side of his friend. Cath was rapidly tweeting orders to her followers - she knew she had taken the first shot and had to prepare her flock to withstand the retaliation.
Jake held Chris as he lay bleeding. “Be cool, be cool, Jakey…” Chris kept repeating it, with his voice becoming weaker and weaker as his assurances grew higher and higher in number. “Be cool, you’ll all be saved…”
“Saved from what?! The vultures? We’re going to have to save ourselves and we won’t even have your help!”
“Nah bro, the Prius’ll save you.” And with that, Chris died, arms outstretched and perpendicular to his bushy tail.
Jake was mostly confused when he heard the car coming. A little silver Prius was rushing down the hill towards their stand-off.
“CAAAAAARRRRRR” Jake squawked. His flock shuffled back off the road to safety. Cath looked up just in time to yell at her fleet to take off as well. “We’ll settle this next time, you dumb turkeys!” Cath’s last words rung in Jake’s ears. It had been a long day, and it was only just beginning. As the car passed, Jake wearily ushered his flock to the other side to continue their search for better seeds.
