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there . The dance was too beautiful . It was too enchanting . On that morning all those years ago a wild turkey gobbler spun a web that has entangled me for all these years . I knew then I would never tire of the sight . As he closed the distance , I could see more detail . His head was more than white . The blue patches around his eyes were so blue that the spring morning sky was pale in comparison ; the red at the base of his neck was so red it seemed it would erupt into flames at any time . The once-black feathers radiated rich green , amber , and bronze reflections in the slices of spring sun that penetrated the canopy and crossed his body .
He looked as if he would lose his balance and topple over if he lifted his wings from the leaf-covered forest floor . His drumming could almost be felt in my soul . I knew this was a morning I would never forget , a sight I would never tire of seeing .
When the gobbler was 40 yards away I remember seeing his beard . It was not overly long or thick . It protruded from his chest and curved downward toward the ground . He carried it proudly as he moved closer to our position .
At 30 yards the gobbler turned and came directly toward us . He had been in my sight , in full strut , for over 30 minutes . In that time he had barely covered 60 yards . He seemed to be in no hurry , to have no concerns . I remember wondering what he was thinking as he danced before me .
I do not remember when Dad shouldered the old Model 12 Winchester . I never noticed the movement . The gobbler was now less than 25 yards away . Three soft yelps propelled a lusty gobble toward of the boy of ten years . The gobbler ’ s expression seemed to dare anything to spoil his ritual . His eyes were as black as coal . His long snood hung several inches below his beak that tucked tightly against his throat . He
Guarding the flock .
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