HuntingNet.com Forums - Twas the night before turkey season...

'Twas the night before Turkey Season, and all through the house
not a creature was sleeping, not even the dog.
The turkey vests were hung by the chimney with care,
in hopes that the morning soon would be there.

The hunter was nestled all snug in his bed,
while visions of monster toms danced in his head.
And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my camo,
had just got home from Wal-mart, where we bought some new Ammo.

When up in the trees there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutter, and threw up the sash.

The morning sun rising, a beautiful glow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below,
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
but a gigantic tom, 5 hens and a deer!

It was Bud Weiser, or maybe the Gin,
I knew in a moment I must have slept in!
More rapid than Earnhard, my pickup I drove,
Scarfing down an egg sandwich, still hot from the stove.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
I'm stuck behind a slow driver - "HURRY UP GUY!!"
So down to the turkey farm I flew,
with a vest full of turkey calls, and owl hooters too.

And then, after parking, I heard on the bank
the gobbling and drumming of turkey the size of a tank.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down off the hill, he came with a bound.

He was dressed all in feathers, from his head to his foot,
and he had a huge beard, no less than a foot.
With a giant red head, I knew he was heavy,
and he looked like a turkey, but the size of a chevy.

He had a broad face and a big, fat round belly,
that shook when he gobbled, like a bowl full of jelly.

His spurs--how they hooked! So sharp, so scary!
His feathers all shiny, his head like a cherry!

I put the bead on his chin, and yanked the first round.
After the dust cleared, there was no turkey to be found.

The smoke it encircled his head like a fog,
I can't believe I missed him, and killed a big log.

In the confusion, he ran the wrong way.
I pulled up for a second shot, and I calmly took aim.
It was just like the Cabela's turkey video game.
The shot found it's mark, and he fell down, lame.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old tom,
and I cheered when I got him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know that he wasn't really dead.

He spoke not a word, and jumped right to his feet,
dusted himself off, and laughed in my face.
He said better luck next time,
and took off like a race.

He sprang into flight, and gave me a whistle,
And I busted him with the third round, and he was dead in the thistle.

Tom won the battle, but I won the war.
I had one in the chamber, backed up with TWO number Fours.

"Happy Turkey Season to all, and to all a good night!"

I just wasted an hour of my life writing that...