Baby Turkeys

When we went to buy feed the other day, we met the turkey babies. They were huddled in this crate, waiting to be transferred to their more spacious homes.

 

They were noisy.

And upset.

They were anxious because their “turkey mama” was helping us instead of talking to them.

She’d turned the radio on to keep them company while she was away, but they wanted her.

She’s their security blanket.

Their comfort.

Their mama.

 

Of course they don’t really grasp the fact that they are turkeys and she is human.

They’d imprinted on her.

The kind woman with the soft voice is their world.

 

It got me thinking about my own world and where I find comfort.

Who or what have I imprinted on?

What is my comfort?

My security blanket?

 

And what is yours?

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