Listen closely children to these harrowing
tales. They have been passed down
from turkey to turkey for many generations, being translated from the ancient
Gobbleguese to our modern French along the way. While they may make your feathers shiver, if you pay
attention, you may avoid a fate similar to what befalls our poor friends in these
stories.
Hansel
was a charming young boy who owned a charming young turkey. His fowl pet was named Gobble, for lack
of more developed creativity.
Hansel and Gobble lived with the boy’s parents on the edges of the
outermost town from the center of the country. They were so far away from everything, including grocery
stores, that once a week Hansel’s parents had to take an excursion into the
forest (that was the only thing they were near to) to hunt and gather their
food. It was a successful mode of
living, and Hansel’s family, including Gobble the turkey, was content.
One
day, which predictably turned out to be a fateful one, Hansel came up with an
inspired idea.
“Mother,
father, can I go to the forest today to do this week’s shopping?” “Shopping” was what they jokingly
called their means of food production.
Hansel’s
parents, concerned that he was too young to hunt and gather alone, quickly
dismissed his plea. “Hansel, we’re
concerned that you are too young to hunt and gather alone, so we’re going to
quickly dismiss your plea,” said his father.
“But
I won’t be alone. Gobble can come
with me.”
At
this, Gobble, who had been sleeping, perked up. He knew he was being dragged into something he probably
would rather not do. In actuality,
anything that could not be classified under sleeping was on Gobble’s mental
list of things he’d rather not do.
In this case, he had a rational excuse: the forest was an unpredictable place, especially for tasty
boys and their young turkeys—I mean, young boys and their tasty turkeys.
“Gobble,
gobble!” exclaimed Gobble.
“See,
he wants to come along,” interpreted Hansel. This, of course, was the exact opposite of what the turkey
meant. “I promise to be super
careful.”
Hansel’s
father looked at his spouse, who just shrugged. “Fine. You can
go. But be back before dark.”
“Thank
you! We’ll come back with as much
food as we can hold,” shouted Hansel as he skipped out the door, with Gobble
reluctantly following.
“I
doubt that,” grumbled Hansel’s father.
“Sweetie,
the least we can do is give him a chance.
We’ll just go shopping in the woods tomorrow,” replied Hansel’s mother.
“I
guess you’re right. We should
always strive to provide our only child with plenty of worldly experiences as
he grows up.”
“You’ve
been reading that parenting book I got you, haven’t you?”
Hansel’s
father smiled sheepishly. “I
have. Though some of the advice
doesn’t seem well thought out.
Like, ‘avoid witches at all costs.’ Doesn’t really seem to belong in the book.”
“Oh,
I’m sure the writers were just having some fun.”
“I
suppose.”
Meanwhile,
Hansel was still skipping merrily between the trees. Gobble was anxiously trotting behind his owner, trying to
keep up. However, what was slowing
Gobble down wasn’t the fact that he was turkey. No, the hindering factor was that the bird was placing
pellets of feed along the ground every few yards. This way, Gobble reasoned, they would be able to find their
way back home. And as they retraced
their steps, Gobble would get a tasty meal.
After
hours of meandering through the forest, Hansel had not found any animals to
hunt or picked a single berry.
Just when he was getting ready to give up, the pair reached a
clearing. In it stood a cottage. But it was not your ordinary
cottage. It was covered in sweet
potatoes, pumpkin pie, stuffing, apple crisp, green beans, mashed potatoes,
pecan pie, you name it. All of the
Thanksgiving meal staples were the building materials for this quaint
home. Except for one.
Turkey.
Hansel,
who having walked several hours was famished, sprinted to the cottage and began
to tear off chunks of food, stuffing them in his mouth. Gobble cautiously followed, and, after
having observed his owner to make sure the food was safe to consume, began to
peck at the house. It was
delicious. Everything tasted
freshly cooked, though that could not have been the case; the house was
definitively of an older architectural style.
After
several minutes of feasting, an old woman crept out of the Thanksgiving
cottage. Hansel and his turkey
were too busy scarfing scrumptious victuals to notice her. The woman coughed quietly to try
getting their attention. They kept
eating. She barked a little
louder. Still no reaction. Finally, she shouted, “Hey, boy and
turkey! Look over here!”
Hansel
and Gobble quickly turned, sweet potatoes and pumpkin seeds falling out of
their mouths in the process. They
were ashamed of what they had done, for they knew they were stealing someone’s
food, not to mention dismantling the house. But the old woman was not mad.
“If
you want more Thanksgiving cuisine, you can come inside. I just cooked another pecan pie,” she
said. Without a second’s
hesitation, the visiting pair rushed inside, already salivating at the thought
of more deliciousness.
At
this point in the tale, it would be appropriate to relate to you that this old
woman who lived in the Thanksgiving food house was a witch. Not a witch as in a mean person; she
was actually a witch. And she had
witchy plans.
“Here
you go, boys,” the witch said sweetly to Hansel and Gobble, offering them a
steaming plate of Thanksgiving treats.
“Eat up.”
As
the two stuffed their bellies with food, they began to grow tired. This was not turkey tryptophan-induced
sleep; as you’ll remember, turkey was the only Thanksgiving food absent. Also, a turkey eating another turkey is
just plain immoral. Instead, the
witch had laced the food with a sleeping potion. Soon, they were asleep, and the witch could move forward
with her plan.
The
witch always cooked Thanksgiving food, but her favorite meal was human boy
stew. And that was precisely what
she planned to make with Hansel.
As she boiled the water, she locked Hansel and Gobble into cages to
prevent them from escaping when they awoke. Soon, the stew base was ready for its featured component.
Fear
makes human boys taste better, so the witch proceeded to wake Hansel up before
adding the final ingredient to her meal.
“Boy,
it’s time to wake up. You have a
job to do,” said the witch sweetly.
“What? Do I need to go shopping in the woods
again?” asked Hansel sleepily.
“No. You need to add yourself to my stew.”
After
this unexpected reply, Hansel was wide awake. “You can’t do that!”
“Oh
yes I can. Just watch.”
“I
won’t taste good. I only—”
But
before Hansel could explain why he wouldn’t taste good, the witch picked him up
and threw him into the cauldron.
After a few hours of stewing, her dinner was ready. She picked up a ladle and took a big,
messy slurp.
“Yuck! This stew is disgusting! That boy tastes horrible.”
This
was precisely what Hansel was trying to explain. Due to living off forest game and gathered produce, he was
extremely lean and tough, with no flavor at all. The witch now had to find a way to save her stew. She turned to Gobble, who was still
fast asleep.
“I
wonder how turkey tastes?” she asked aloud. “Only one way to find out.”
With
a new plan laid out, the witch picked up Gobble, waking him with a start. Immediately, he knew something was
amiss.
“Gobble,
gobble!” he cried.
“Yes,
I would be happy to add you to my stew,” replied the witch. This, of course, was the exact opposite
of what the turkey meant. With no
further delay, she threw the turkey into the boiling pot. A few hours later, her stew was ready
again. She cautiously tried a
spoonful. It was delicious.
“This
is the best stew I’ve ever had.
That turkey really did the trick.”
The
witch spread the food news to her coven; after tasting the turkey, they all
agreed that it was delicious. From
that day on, the witches incorporated turkeys as a main part of their
Thanksgiving feasts, making the Thanksgiving meal how we know it today: dangerous for turkeys.
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