The Post Pigeon's                  

            Readers Email

From:       A Christmas Turkey

To:          The Post Pigeon

Subject:    Don't be sorry

Dear Post Pigeon,

A very suspicious-looking man came into the barnyard the other day. He looked all around among my brothers and cousins.
Then he pointed at me and said I a nice, big fellow. This made me feel very proud. 

When he put his hand into his pocket, I supposed he was going to give me some corn. Instead he counted out money to my master.
Then I knew he would take me away, and I began gobbling good-bye to my relatives and friends of the barnyard. 

Now I am alone in the little pen he brought me to. I have been thinking of all this fuss over me, and having so many good things to eat must mean something.

I gobbled to some other fowls running about in a yard, and found out from them that it was almost Christmas-time.

Now let me ease your tender little hearts about my career being so suddenly cut short. I want to tell you that in Turkeydom it is considered a great glory to be the center of attraction at a Christmas dinner-table to be dressed up in a nice brown coat to be surrounded by sparkling jellies, rich cranberry sauce, and all the other good things to hear the children cry, "Oh! Oh!" and the papas and mamas say, "What a fine turkey!" 

This is what we live for, my dear Post Pigeon. 

So, when I have gobbled my last gobble, don't be sorry for me. 

Yours, when fat,

TURKEYGOBBLER