[link] Picture 1
Uncle Bobby and Grandma out at the turkey shoot. Hence the bottle of Wild Turkey in Uncle's hand. I begged to go with them, but Daddy always said no. Mom finally said, "He won't learn until he sees it."
The next year, Daddy told Grandma and Uncle Bobby we'd be going with them. They talked about it for weeks, and I didn't sleep the night before we went.
I watched the sky for the turkeys while Uncle got his shotgun ready. Grandma was chatting with her buddies. Daddy nudged me and pointed at some crates on a truck.
"What's that?"
"The turkeys."
Before I could ask, the crates were ripped open, the turkeys dumped out, and as they flapped in confusion on the ground, they were kicked until they clumsily took to the air. Uncle Bobby laughed and raised his shotgun.
I hid in the back of the car, crying, and Daddy silently drove us home.