Turkey Town

My name is Sgt. Drake. I'm a turkey. I work the homicide division. The following story will sicken you.

It was on a night so chilly you couldn’t work up a good gobble to save your life. Which was unfortunate, because many lost their lives that night, and not a gobble was heard.

Accident? Or premeditated murder? You call it.

I received the call around midnight, and was at the scene in minutes.

"Turkey heads found in a barrel, Sarge," said the rookie. "And look at this!" He held up some rigid and gnarly turkey claws and shuddered. "I found them in the pig sty, Sarge! In the pig sty!" Then he fainted.

"Put this rookie in the back of my patrol car!" I ordered. "And rope off this farm. Nobody leaves!"

My feathers were up as I headed toward the farmer's house. I've had my suspicions about Old McDonald before, but he always had an alibi. Now I've got him. Got him good.

Before knocking on Old McDonald's door, I stood on the front porch and poked my beak into the dining room window, and was sickened at what I saw. The McDonald's were all sitting around the dinning room table - eating the evidence!

"When did the world go mad?" I asked myself.

Old McDonald received two years probation and five hundred hours of community service at the Turkey Town amputee center. Me? I'll keep my claws crossed till next Thanksgiving.