Tony Woodlief | Author

Turkey Hunt

Caleb and Eli seek me out, each carrying a little plastic hatchet. “We’re looking for the turkey,” says Caleb.

“Thanksgiving’s over.”

“No, the little turkey that goes in the play barn.”

“Oh. I don’t know where it is.”

“Well, have you sawn it?”


“No, Caleb, have you seen it. You said ‘sawn.'”

Caleb walks away, still looking for the little turkey, though from where I sit I can see two of them, each carrying a little plastic hatchet.

“Caleb, you said ‘sawn.'”

“I know,” he replies with an irritated tone. Don’t know where he learned that.

“Caleb, be polite. Say: ‘thank you, little brother, for correcting me.'”

“Thank you little brother for correcting me.”

“Dad, I’m not little.”

Little turkeys.

On Key

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