Taking on turkeys

My mother hates turkeys. Which is probably why Guy decided we needed to get some.

On a Saturday morning a couple of months ago we were at the Burnie Farmers' Market. Guy had been relaxing reading the paper ("I just get in your way behind the stall anyway...") and I was serving customers, when I heard Guy on the phone, "we'll take the lot".

"We'll take the lot of what?"

Well, you know the answer.

Fortunately by the time we had a chance to drive to Kimberley to pick up the turkeys "the lot" had lessened significantly and there were only 18 left. Only.

These turkeys are just your common white ones, and we're considering them trial turkeys before we source a rare breed.

Fifty-three per cent of the world's turkey breeds are actually at risk of extinction. Almost all turkey meat you buy comes from one breed alone, the Broad Breasted White.

The turkeys weren't a problem when we first got them. They stalked around shyly and kept a good distance. Ten disappeared one night, probably taken by quolls or devils, but not a feather was left.

The remaining eight are now into everything. My car is covered in huge, muddy convict-like prints from bonnet to boot. There are black, smelly messes across the yard - and down the gravel road to our neighbour's house where she kicked them out four times on Friday.

They climb and try to balance on everything. They've eaten my kohl rabi seedlings. They're harrassing the ducks. And this morning there were heavy noises on the roof.

There is one thing I don't mind about them: they make so many different chortling, guttural, peck-peck-peck sounds, and it's quite comforting to hear them chat away as they ambush the other animals.

And in the evenings they climb onto the stable roof, wobble forward and back at the peak, and watch the sunset.

But what I'm really looking forward to is a free range roast turkey. And it won't be long now.