Winter came two days after our last cookout, all agape at the thunder snow, then it blew into
the house: drifts everywhere, iced toilet water, can-canning squirrels on the mantle, Canada geese
on our couch, our hutch, the rice cooker, while our Rottweiler cowered in the shower, then the
turkeys—even more prehistoric up close—sliding on green goose slime, then the face-off— turkey
hens putting, their gobblers advancing, heads turning red, geese honking off before feathers flew—
and then we snuggled with warm vodka and Vernors, amidst the cluck and purr of massive birds.