http://dailynews.yahoo.com/h/nm/20010302/od/bird_dc_1.html

Friday March 2 10:18 AM ET

Wild Turkey Pecks on Mail Carrier

BOSTON (Reuters) - Neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night kept a Newton, Massachusetts, postal carrier from his rounds. It took a wild turkey.

``He's a big one, bigger than any dog that's chased me,'' said U.S. postal carrier Tim Hoban, who has been delivering mail in the Boston suburb for the past 14 years.

The 5-foot-9 (1.8 meter), 150-pound (68 kg) Hoban said the 4-foot-6 (1.3 meter), 30 pound (13.5 kg) wild turkey has been in the area for about a year. ``But about a month ago, he started chasing me.

``He see me, hunches up his back, spreads his wings, goes gobble, gobble and charges right at me,'' said Hoban, 39, acknowledging that there ``are some things that are really funny about this, but it's not so funny when he chases me out into traffic.''

The situation has become so bad that Hoban's supervisors agreed he did not have to deliver mail to about 20 homes in the area.

Boston's Animal Rescue League spent more than an hour on Wednesday without success trying to capture the turkey, which the neighborhood has nicknamed ``George.''

Hoban speculated that George sees him as a threat to his food supply. Recently people in the neighborhood have been putting out food for the creature.

``I feel bad for the people and I feel bad for the turkey. I don't want him hurt, but that goes for me too,'' Hoban said.

-- (weird@nimal.story), March 03, 2001

Answers

We got them damn things in our country too. Down a road aways at the head of Big Canyon at Peck, Idaho they got a big problem with them birds. The grain trucks from Montana blow off a lot of grain from their trailers along US 12 and them gobblers go out there and fill up. They been doing that for years now and geneticly they have got huge. When you are out deer huntin and if you get within 100 yards of these things they come after ya and chase you down. If they get you down you are in big trouble because they go after your crotch area for some damn reason. Most of us serious hunters started wearin cups for protection. But any more if you are out tryin to bag a whitetail down there and one of them suckers gets a hold of you, the big joke in them parts is about the gobblers tryin to peck the peckers right off of them Peckers at Peck. This is a true story and most of the locals take it dead serious!

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 03, 2001.

Them GM Turkey birds aren't a patch on the stuff we cope with Down Under. For example our syrax wasps do rather famously on the fertilized pine plantations we grow for the christmas tree trade and we use a nematode noodle soup to get the grubs before they osmosis trip or something happens to change 'em into flying fortresses. When they gang up we knock 'em down with number fours from our autos', but since the gun buyback we've been getting fewer. Shooting with an old side-by-side hammer isn't the same as lining them up with six rapid loads. We used to work on the theory that its best to have lotsa lead up there. Even then it took a bit to drop enough of them, and you have to drop quite a few to make wasp brain pate on accounts of their small cerebral feature. I tell you the local brand of wasp brain pate was considered to be the best by any world standard you Yankees might wish to apply.

-- Pieter (zaadz@icisp.net.au), March 03, 2001.

Hey there Pieter, them wasps must be huge down there in New Zealand. We used to have big ole yellowjackets that bothered the hell out of us when we were growin up. Big they was, bout the size of a flying potatoe. Grandad had a old Sharps 45-70 that he brought from Missouri and I could take that damn thing and I got to the point where I could hit them on the fly. When you'd bust one with that big ole piece of lead, yellow jacket shit and brains fell to earth. You had to be upwind though, cause they smelt funny. You remember that Sharps 45-70 from that movie Quigley Down Under? You got to sight it in for 50 yards and lead em about 6 inches.

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 03, 2001.

But any more if you are out tryin to bag a whitetail down there and one of them suckers gets a hold of you, the big joke in them parts is about the gobblers tryin to peck the peckers right off of them Peckers at Peck. This is a true story and most of the locals take it dead serious!

Say that one five times you know the one bout pecking peckersQQQQ

LMAO I'm laughing so hard i can barely type.

its funny till he chases me out into traffic....lmao.......

WHERE do you people find this stuff?

-- sumer (shh@aol.con), March 03, 2001.

recovering as well sumer.

Here in game poor SoCal getting a turkey is cause for celebration.

-- Carlos (riffraff@cybertime.net), March 03, 2001.

Howdy Squire Boswell,

I was partial to the old Harrington Richardson single barrel until a mate blew its side out with some hotter cartridges while training his sheepdog to retrieve a micky rabbit from a dam. Never did see that dog afterwards, what with the unexpected loud commotion and counting of fingers and the ringing ears. Peeled open the damascus twist like it was foil paper.

Fortunately I live in a bush village and can take the dogs out daily by just jumping the barbed wire fencing into paddocks with quail and rabbits. On a fancy I might amble over to the dairy sylo to get some pigeon - as a matter of fact I got 6 ticking along nicely for a Sunday evening treat right now. Nothing quite like silo-pigeon, but I'd not say no to some breasted galah streaks.

The best atmosphere is out on the lake foreshore perched on some shale in a rock blind with smelly dogs aquiver before the decoy pattern. Them teal just hang there with their beadie red eyes looking every which way when we spring the surprise. At one time I tied the dogs to my leg when touching a flagon of finest port wine and the birds surprised me with the dogs away and me behind in a tangle of line and deeks, all arse-up in the shallow. I salvaged the bottle 'cause I had priorities them days.

When that Harrington Richardson went off it blew you clean off the perch. Damn, I'm getting emotional over the dunking I got, and the memory of good dogs. I'm training another one now, but I had a good one or two before which went to heaven. Living close to heaven now, nevermind the freakz that get to spoil it all with legislation and stuff.

Just pulling your leg with the syrax wasp. We're more into prickly- back sinkhole crayfish type of yabbies with monster pinchers that can take the top of a stubbie of beer. Often we take one along camping 'cause it handy to have one around due to their versatility - they stew well too and are a treat with mayonnaise and a lick of strawberry jam.

We've got wonderful scrub turkey too. As this is a family forum I won't own up to having tasted one, but they are tender and juicy red ... shhhh..., top secret info we are loath to share. Furthermore, in my opinion, I believe your gobblers don't stack up against the culinary delight of the savage native brutes Down Under.

Regardz from OZ

-- Pieter (zaadz@icisp.net.au), March 03, 2001.

Shot who?

-- (cin@cin.cin), March 03, 2001.

Pieter, I got a story about them damn pigeons. We ain't got silos in our parts but we got Big hay barns. These things have been nestin in the rafters for a few months and crappin on everything from the 2 year old hay to the 12 year old JD combine. I'd had about enough of their shit so I borrowed a propane shotgun from the neighbor. This is a large tube that loads up with propane and it ignites and sets off an explosion that will scare the piss out of an albino jackrabbit. You can set the timer to go off every minute or every 2 hours. I had it set for 45 minutes and it worked fine for a week. The pidgeons seem to thin out during that time but they were getting braver.

I decided to sneak down to the hayshed one day while the birds were gone. Waited about 30 minutes and here they come. I had a Remington 12 gauge auto with 1 in the chamber and two on hold. They sat right beside the plastic fake Owl that some jerk told me would scare them away. I got ready to blast away when the time come for them to take flight. All of a sudden that goddamn propane shotgun went off and scared me so bad that my trigger finger slipped and I started firing. Six pidgeons flew and 3 shotgun blasts went right thru the tin roof before I got ahold of myself. Took me all the rest of the afternoon to fix the holes and all the time them things flew around like nothin had even happened!

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 04, 2001.

wipes sweat from forehead and says "Damn I sure am glad I'm not bos'es neighbor.

Crazy billy :-)

-- sumer (shh@aol.con), March 04, 2001.

Pieter, what in the hell is a GM turkey bird? I've spent the last 48 hours tryin to figure out what that meant.

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 04, 2001.

G'Day again Boswell,

'Tis Monday morning & your turkey tale was about a genetically modified (GM) bird that fancy's a postman...not forgetting to count them dudes of Peck.

Pigeons eh? Can I tell you about pigeons. Probably the more memorable occasion was an invite to nobble ferals on coastal islands off the mainland and the next stop would be Antartica. Two miles off shore in a little fart dingie without freeboard and a stuttering puttputt motor pointing us into a rolling swell over rocks-n-reefs and lobster.

Then upon beaching on a dismal apology of sand behind a prominent rock draping with wet seaweed we got positioned with autos and bags while rangers of our illustrious and glorious national parks got frisky with feral birds beyond the gull nesting sites.

Let me tell you the triple-A guns had trouble with the wild and twisting acrobatics in the stiff brazing Southerly breeze, but once I got rhythm in the full sun-n-glare I manage to hold my own. I confess to a nagging doubt about our safety with a stiffening gust bringing an ominous ocean that'll bugger us for sure if we left our retreat too late.

Anyway, to cut it short we reckon on about 450 birds for the day and copped a wild tossing in the surf on our return. Only ever did that once because the bastards were mad, but it was memorable with visions of being white pointer bait.

We got suitable inebriated afterwards I tell you. Bloody mad mongrels I socialize with, it's a wonder I'm alive at all.

Pigeons galore that day.

Regardz from zaadz

-- Pieter (zaadz@icisp.net.au), March 04, 2001.

Hey there Pieter, that was a tale and a half. I have more also and all of them true to the core, but the wifey and I have to go to a sausage feed at Reubens just out of Craigmont and I'll spill my guts when I get back. Some of these stories bring a tear to my eyes because they bring back fond memories. I got one on starlings, rattlesnakes, bats, and a teacher that got hung out the old 2 story window cause she wouldn't behave. Talk to ya later!

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 04, 2001.

Well anyway, a few years back we had a starling problem in the shop. Damn nasty things a poopin all over God's tools of creation. Got one locked up in there one day and caught him in a bug net that we use to check for aphid out in the pea fields. We had a few blastin caps left from blowin stumps behind the barn so the hired man held the little turd while I wrapped this detonation cap around his belly and a 6 second fuse. I lit the thing and Ronnie attempted to throw the starling up in the air but he wouldn't let go till about 3 seconds later. When he got on the fly he looked like a Jap Kamakaze that took a fatal AAA hit. When it went off it was just a blur of smoke, blood, and guts. We all had fun but Ronnie, he's still missin a heart beat over that one!

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 04, 2001.

Bos very twisted. Don't serial killers start out that way?

-- (cin@cin.cin), March 04, 2001.

No cin that's just a rumour that you've heard. Actually this is the only way to get rid of some of these pests. Like if you can wound a pidgeon with a shotgun blast and he can still squall and squak that's the preferable technique. If they let the other ones know they are hurtin it kind of sends a strong message to the rest of the clan. But of course the starling didn't have time to tap out a SOS!

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 05, 2001.

Also cin, if you use that line of thinking, most of the farm kids in this country would be potential serial killers. And I think if you did some checkin, you'd find that most if not all of the historical serial killers were raised in urban areas. Because we were brought up learning how to properly pull legs off of grasshoppers or run a coyote down with a snowmobile doesn't mean we've got victims buried in all 50 states.

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 05, 2001.

Because we were brought up learning how to properly pull legs off of grasshoppers or run a coyote down with a snowmobile doesn't mean we've got victims buried in all 50 states.

LMAO, think 'mental pic of billy on snowmobile running down the damn road runner...) still lmao.

-- sumer (shh@aol.con), March 05, 2001.

Howdi over there, American Boswell. It's Tuesday morning here.

Well, I suppose to jolly along a solitary spoggy can be thought of as fine Yankee entertainment, but over Down Under we have billions of starlings and to prime 'em all would break the primer bank. That's why we resort to devious subterfuge and make a packet to boot, as a bonus.

It's said by some ethnics in yonder Melbourne that the finest quail can be had off Biscuit Flat and a mate of mine who I've been trying to disown for donks arranged to deliver a whopping huge pile of birds for the annual Ethnic game eaters bash. There's an awful lot of foreigh folks that dwell, together like, in suburbs and they are very sociable by mixing and all. Hardly no tension and bombs, although I believe they get rather raucous at the soccer and afterwards, following another funeral, torching paybacks tend to get out of hand.

For some obscure reason the quail decided on a low profile and starlings were flocking in huge affairs, congregating in clouds of millions, a-twisting and throbbing like a pulsating heartbeating over an immensity of wheatgrassed pipeclay and sampphire sedge-n-lunettes.

A contract to deliver is a contract to treasure, so we figured that the grainfed darlings would pluck same as plumb stubble quail, and nobody'd tell the difference when they'd be brimming and bloated on grappa or what-not.

The amazing thing about these humongous flocks of birds is they are of a like mind. When one bird goes down the entire shebang comes around to pass on their condolances and communal respect. Naturally you present the gun and more flap about in the scrubbery and the entire flock figure it a hoot swinging around to get a bigger slice of the action. Then you toss a bit more at 'em in accommodation and friendship, and the afternoon seesaws along famously. In no time flat we bagged out on Biscuit Flat and fulfilled our contract. So it was that nobody went without at the ethnic game fair in Melbourne.

Many months later I trialed my bird-dog at a retrieving trial and some ethnics said the fare at the fair was the best and they asked would I care to be available next year to supply such delicacy once again. Naturally I promised to contact my mate who is good at arrangements of the nefarious sort. You see I'm far too honest for my own good and cannot keep a straight face, a dreadful affliction if you wish to cash in on our magnificent abundance.

Regards from Zaadz

-- Pieter (zaadz@icisp.net.au), March 05, 2001.

Hi there Pieter from the big island! Thought I was a serial killer for a moment and I grabbed ahold of myself and found out I was still a farmboy at heart. I scare some people but most of us out in the country know what I'm talkin about. Hey, I had a run in with a timber rattler a few years back and I wanted to share that story with you. Was cuttin dry peas with an old 403 International combine on the back of 150 acres next to Big Canyon when I noticed a buzzer on my header. Well I shut down and climbed off, took a stick and commenced to snatch me a live rattle snake. When your 19 years old you're always cool and I thought the coolest thing to do would be to come back home with a live rattlesnake in your hand.

I got that stick behind his head and held him down and reached for him. I got a death grip on his neck and wouldn't let go. He took 3 wraps around my wrist and wouldn't let go either. I'm standin there thinkin about what to do next. He won't let go and neither will I, so I walk back to the shop. Dad's in the barnlot workin on another combine and see's that snake and comes unglued. What in the Hell do you think you're doin? "I don't rightly know" I said. Anyway, he took this squirt can of oil and soaked up my arm real good and told me to shake my arm real hard. Well I shook the shit out of my arm and he let go and I let go but, before he got to far away he bit my thumb. I have never hurt so bad in all my life. My finger turned every color but pink and I wanted to die for a week. No antivenom. Dad took a pocket knive and sliced my finger up real slow. That's what hurt so damn bad!

-- Boswell (cjseed@webtv.net), March 05, 2001.