I came across a magnificent Turkey Vulture yesterday on my way to town. Or as we call them around here, a Turkey Buzzard. He was gigantic. I feared I might run over him. He was sitting on a freshly-squashed rabbit in the middle of the county road, ripping out chunks of flesh. The rabbit looked like it had been skinned. The fur was gone. A fresh spot of blood made a pool of dipping sauce.
Mr. Turkey Vulture turned to look at me in my approaching T-Hoe. He heaved himself heavily with an ungainly flap, flap, flapping of his enormous wings, and rose out of harm's way. He did the same on my way home twenty minutes later. I saw him perch in a dead tree in a cow field, about fifty feet off the road.
I did not get a picture, because I am not in the habit of fumbling for my smart-phone to make a dumb move and click pics while I'm piloting a large SUV on unmarked two-lane blacktop. But Google is my best bud, and on this website, I found this spittin' image of him:
Mr. Turkey Vulture was bigger than Tank the Beagle. The size of a turkey, in fact. Go figure. So much wildlife. So little space on the road. Last week, The Pony and I saw a turkey run across our gravel road. And three raccoons scurry across the county road. The hills are alive.