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Indybay Feature

A Turkey Named Adam

by Christine Morrissey (christine [at] eastbayanimaladvocates.org)
This Thanksgiving nearly 45 million turkeys will be slaughtered for holiday dinner. Learn the story of one turkey who escaped this misery.
At 2:00 am, I often drive along Highway 99, one of California's most haunting travel routes. To motorists and farmed animals alike, Highway 99 is known as 'Blood Alley'. It is commonplace to see 18-wheeler vehicles chock-full of bewildered animals transported on the narrow artery of the Central Valley on their way to the final, unfortunate destination--the slaughterhouse.

The Rescue

Traveling down Highway 99 this summer, I was eager to return to a turkey farm that I had not frequented in over seven months. Walking through the orchards in-route to the farm sheds, I rubbed my St. Christopher medal for good luck. My visit to the turkey farm was a brief one this night. So, I snapped a few photographs and began the search.

Who was going to accompany me back to the Bay Area? After surveying, I spotted a poult (baby turkey) with a severe case of splay leg and scooped him up. Then, I happened upon a poult lying still in the litter. I reached out to grab him and suddenly he popped up. In a scrambled frenzy, the poult darted across the ground of the shed. "Get over here little guy," I whispered. "Let's get the hell out of here." Finally, I grabbed the fuzzy one-pound poult. With poultry in-hand, I exited the farm.

At the time, I did not realize it; but, this particular farm visit changed my life.

Arriving in the Bay Area a few hours later, the poults were safe. After the feathered duo settled in, I rested my eyes for two hours and headed to work. Typing away on the computer all day, I could not stop thinking about the new arrivals.

When I returned home, I was excited to reunite with my friends. The situation was grim however. I found a factory farm casualty: the splay-legged poult. Standing over his friend's recently-deceased body was the other turkey screaming at the top of his lungs. In commercial farming, poult mortality rate is extremely high. During the third week of life, one can find over a hundred dead turkeys in a single shed.

Without hesitation, I scooped up the distressed baby and headed to bed. I sang him the lullaby "Linger" to quiet him down. Before I knew it, the baby turkey was asleep on my stomach. I smiled and closed my eyes. I made a new friend.

Adventures with Adam

The next morning I awoke to high-pitched cheeping. The turkey was standing on my chest looking me square-in-the-eye. The cheeping sounded like "The Adam's Family" jingle. Appropriately, I named the poult: Adam.

Over the next several weeks, Adam and I were inseparable. From film screenings to family gatherings to bars, Adam mingled with all walks-of-life, including humans, chickens, pigs and dogs. One evening, he even met Alicia Silverstone. Young Adam was proficient in working the crowd. Surviving a dog bite, Adam was also a true fighter. I had rescued turkeys and chickens before. But, no one was quite like Adam. All I wanted was to see him grow-up to be a handsome tom.

Companions for Life

Adam was living with Dana, an outspoken broiler chicken, for a couple weeks before his true love arrived. On an early Sunday morning, Adam was introduced to Lady Dee, a graceful yet strong-willed turkey hen. Instantly, the two hit it off.

From perching to dustbathing to slumbering, Adam and Lady Dee did everything together. With Adam in the lead, the two-pack constantly followed me around the house. Adam was always the star; Lady Dee was always the maternal protector.

The Phone Call

The morning of August 11, 2004 was not unlike any other day. I woke up, fed and cleaned the birds and headed to work. Before leaving everyday, I gave Adam a kiss and whispered "I love you, Cheeps" in his ear.

At approximately 4:40 PM, I checked my work voicemail. My housemate left a frantic message. Immediately, I called back.

Adam died.

I hung up the phone quietly and sat still in my chair. I was completely devastated.

Arriving at home, my housemate said Adam that flown into a wooden chair and broke his neck. In a freak accident, my baby was taken away from me prematurely. I felt like the worst mother in the world.

My housemate had placed his body in a shoe box in the garage. Opening the box, I placed my hand on his still-warm body and started to cry. Six weeks since his rescue, Adam had lost most of yellow baby fuzz and started to grow his long wing feathers. He would never grow up to be a big boy.

I removed his body from the box and retreated to the backyard where he died. I realized that I was not the only one mourning Adam's passing when I walked up to the chair. Lady Dee was perched on the chair when Adam died. She looked puzzled and flustered.

For hours, I held Adam and sang "Linger" to him once again. My favorite line of the Girl Scout song was "its goodnight, not goodbye." I always loved to hold him and listen to him talk.

The next morning Lady Dee and I buried Adam in the dirt where he loved to dustbathe. Over the next week, I painfully informed friends and family of Adams abrupt passing.

Returning to the Farm

Not until after his death, I did realize what a huge impact this little bird had. A woman wrote to me: "[Adam] was the last straw for [my friend] to not eat meat. So that little turkey made a difference and saved many more of his kin."

Adam was a true ambassador for his species. He never let anything slow him down. He instilled in me a great sense of resiliency.

Two weeks after his passing, I made the bittersweet return to the turkey farm off Highway 99. Four more poults would no longer endure the pains of factory farming.

I gazed into the night-sky as I walked back to the car. Without a doubt, Adam was watching over my new friends. Before stepping into the car to return to the Bay Area, I whispered, "Thank you, Cheeps. Goodnight."


As a tribute to Adam's life, East Bay Animal Advocates established The Adam Fund. For more information about the Fund, visit http://www.eastbayanimaladvocates.org.
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