The Turkey Who Found a Christmas Miracle

Toby was happily pecking at some seed in the farmyard when he overheard Farmer Potter talking to his wife about a forthcoming trip the turkeys were taking to ‘the abattoir’. Listening intently, Toby learnt the awful truth about what Farmer Potter called the best meal of the year. Toby didn’t intend on being anyone’s Christmas dinner. When Mrs Potter drove through the farm gate on her way to Waitrose for some decent food, he seized his chance and ran alongside the car, hidden from the farmer’s view by the glaring monstrosity that was Mrs Potter’s bright yellow Porsche Boxster. Toby walked through the night until his feet were raw. Cold, tired, and trembling, he thankfully spotted a warm shop glowing with bright lights.  

‘Sanctuary!’ he thought, waddling inside under a big sign reading RAMSBOTTOM & SONS, TRADITIONAL FAMILY BUTCHERS SINCE 1875.  Within seconds, poor Toby was scooped up and placed in the window with a notice around his neck: FRESH TURKEY!  CHRISTMAS SPECIAL!

Toby stared out through the plate glass, too shocked and tired to make another break for freedom. A family with two young daughters stopped on the pavement outside, pointing at Toby and talking excitedly before walking into the shop and paying the butcher. The butcher unceremoniously dumped Toby into a cardboard box and the dad carried him out to the car. Toby cried the whole journey, certain this was the end. But when they arrived, something strange happened. They didn’t sharpen knives. They didn’t preheat the oven, or dig out a stuffing recipe. Instead, they gently placed him in a cosy shed beside their cheerful pet duck.

The mum smiled at Toby. ‘We’ve been looking for a friend for Dandelion for ages.’

Toby looked up at her, confused.

 ‘You’re safe here, little one. We’re all vegans.’

Toby’s tears turned into happy gobbles. He and Dandelion spent the next week playing together in the garden, quacking and gobbling with joy, knowing they wouldn’t follow the sad festive fate of countless other fowl.

Then came Christmas Eve. The family had worked hard all morning covering the house with an extravagant display of lights. As it got dark, they got ready for the big switch on. Toby wondered if it was sensible to have all twenty strings of lights plugged into the same humming extension block, but he wasn’t a qualified electrician so what did he know?

As the lights flickered and buzzed, Toby stepped a little too close to the tangled heap of leads on the patio. There was a huge bang and a burst of light engulfed Toby who lit up like a glowing turkey-shaped angel.

When the sparks finally died and the smoke drifted away, Toby was no longer standing. He was reduced to a crispy, aromatic… feast.

The family froze. Their noses twitched. Their stomachs rumbled.

‘He… he cooked himself,’ whispered the eldest, eyes wide.

‘He smells so good,’ said the youngest, licking her lips.

‘No,’ gasped the dad. ‘Meat is murder.’

‘Just a nibble?’ asked the mum.

A hesitant bite. Followed by another. And another.

Snow began to fall as the family devoured what was left of Toby. 

That Christmas, Toby learned the true meaning of going cold turkey.