I stood at the window and watched a wild turkey parade go by this morning, across the driveway and up the hill into the pinons. One, two, three, four, five, six, eight, ten, twelve, and finally fourteen if I counted correctly. They are so goofy and regal at the same time, scurrying and bobbing their ugly heads as if they don’t know how unattractive they are, holding themselves very erect. At that moment they unquestionably owned that spot of ground on which they stand.