Los Gatos Weekly-Times

Town turkeys belie species' reputation

By Ann Lencioni

Turkeys, they say, aren't very smart. So dull are these birds that, when all words fail, the most inept and foolish among us are called turkeys. Neither are they particularly attractive, with their naked heads and wattled necks and hairlike bristles where feathers should be. Since pilgrim days, turkeys have had one, and only one, fundamental destiny: the Thanksgiving table.

About a year ago, we moved to a house in the hills above Los Gatos, near where Shannon and Kennedy roads end. I soon found out that turkeys are part of the landscape here. These are wild turkeys, native to northern Mexico and the eastern United States, the species from which all domesticated breeds have been developed.

About two or three flocks roam the hills, mostly hens but with an essential number of males. From a distance, they could be giant turtles creeping up the side of a hill, or tight tumbleweed rolling gently in the breeze. Up closer, they can be seen scratching the dirt, pecking at grasses and ferreting out critters that are nearly invisible but every now and then prove to be a snake or a mouse. They have claimed refuge under a sheltering oak that dominates a little knoll outside our dining room window. I see them there during a rain, or in the early morning mist, huddled together, preening themselves and each other. Often, I can hear the throaty "gobble" of the male. And once I was privy to a glorious fanlike display of tail feathers--whether it was in courtship or aggression wasn't apparent.

But something of a phenomenon occurred with last year's flocks: At about this time last November, the turkeys disappeared.

They had been quite visible, I am told, since early last spring. By midsummer, when we moved here, the turkeys' presence was as common as that of deer and other wildlife that somehow survive the intrusions of "civilization" in these beautiful canyons above town. They had become one of the interesting elements of living in the hills that we would delightedly point out to guests. Children who visited us at our new house would come with wild-bird seed to feed the turkeys. And a couple of--shall I say--less-than-tenderhearted family members would threaten to come with bows and arrows, or worse. But only threaten.

Remarkably, though, about a week or two before Thanksgiving Day last year, there were no turkeys to be seen. Suddenly, and without obvious aberrant behavior that might indicate a leave-taking, the turkeys simply left!

There are coyotes in these hills--they show themselves meekly during the day but are bold with their howling and hunting sounds at night. Surely, a coyote would be victorious in a struggle with a turkey, though it's unlikely that all the flocks that roamed these hills would fall prey to the coyotes. I haven't lived here long enough to know, of course, but an old-timer who lives up the road told me that the turkeys probably retreated over the high ridge toward Lexington, or maybe sought sanctuary "down Almaden way."

In any case, their timing was impeccable. Why take the chance? After all, of the 240 million or so American turkeys walking around at this moment--the feathered ones, that is--most are headed toward one, and only one, inescapable destiny.

The present flocks that take shelter from the rain under our oak appeared again this year in early spring, and they are still here. Thanksgiving Day is near. If I look out the window one of these drizzly November days, and the only watery plumage by the great oak is that of the woodpecker that wakes me up every morning, I may have to start seriously wondering about the "they" who say turkeys aren't so smart.

Ann Lencioni is a Los Gatos resident.

[ Back to Contents Page | Los Gatos Weekly-Times Home Page | Archives ]