A few years ago, I was out in the country taking photos when I spotted a mama turkey with a bunch of itty bitty baby turkeys. They were so darn cute that I had to get closer to get a good shot. Mama and the babies didn't like this and they all ran away, except for one little baby who was lagging behind. When Mama Turkey saw how close I was to her little baby, she got totally pissed and ran at me faster than I thought a turkey could run. I was at a crossroads: fight or flight? I am such a wuss and turned to run but that psychotic hen was onto me and she lunged at my back and slammed me with her sharp talons into the middle of the road. As I was steadying myself to get up and recover what I could of my camera that took a lot of the brunt in the crash, I looked over and that crazy bitch was coming back for more. At this point I was in that weird crying laughing hysteria. Is this funny? Am I going to die? Luckily a car was coming up the road, and this spooked the turkey baby mama and gave me enough time to run my pathetic ass into the house where I found my boyfriend at the time sitting on the couch wearing his bicycle helmet in a retarded looking way, straddling a giant tub of Utz cheese balls and when he saw the mess of a condition I was in, sweating and in tears, one lone cheese ball dropped out of his mouth onto the floor along with a little cheesy drool. "I've been attacked! I've been attacked!"
Thankfully, I survived. Although, getting killed by a turkey is on my top ten list of cool ways to die. Now every year when we eat turkey for Thanksgiving, I savor it with a side sweet revenge.