Recalling the huge live turkey my grandpa always got for Thanksgiving staked out in our tiny backyard. I used to scrape my hands and clothes against the grit siding on the house just to get past the turkey who would puff up all its feathers and "gobble, gobble" at me. I was terrified of it and never ate any of it, only the side dishes. My dad was a forest preserve ranger and often brought home odd things for us to take for "show and tell" at school; walking stick insects, praying mantis, abandoned hornets nests, honey combs, odd foliage, etc. To this day I am awed by the knowledge that birds of prey have feathers that make no sound when waved through the air where others make a "whooshing" sound. Silent hunting. Dad made us feel special in his way.