The parents' lovely property is under siege. A gang of wild turkeys lives in the neighborhood, and passes through once or twice a day, begging for change and smoking cigarettes.
I refer to them as "The Harbingers of Death," because they are a little skinny this winter, so look more like buzzards or vultures.
It's a little scary to wake up and find a faux vulture staring in the sliding glass. They are relentless! Shoo, you Harbingers of Death!
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