Mr. Gobbles

During my Senior year of college, I interned at a company in Kendall Square in Boston. The building I worked in was more or less a "U" shape, with a small courtyard where the smokers would gather. For weeks, I drove to work, swiped my access card, parked in the lot, swiped my access card again, and entered the building; each day like the one before. Then, one morning, I walked into the building and happened to look into the courtyard to my left. There stood the largest, proudest turkey I have ever seen. It was standing in the courtyard, staring at itself in the reflection of the windows, its colorful feathers puffed out. I practically ran to my office to share the news with my officemate. This was, by the way, February in Boston, the temperature rarely above freezing. "DID YOU SEE THE TURKEY IN THE COURTYARD??" He barely looked up from his computer. "You mean Mr. Gobbles?" "He has a name!?" "Sure, he's been here for years. He just looks at himself in the windows all day long." My mind swam with questions. Where did he come from? Where does he live? Why is he in a city of all places? Is he someone's pet? Isn't he cold??

To say Mr. Gobbles was the largest turkey I've ever seen is not hyperbole. I would never want to be face to face with that thing. But he intrigued me. He seemed to completely ignore all the people, cars, and concrete surrounding him, and focused only on his reflection (presumably thinking it was another male). I've never known a turkey to be described as regal before; clumsy, awkward, even tasty, sure. But Mr. Gobbles was a regal bird. He'd strut around the courtyard, flashing his colorful feathers, putting on a show for anyone who would watch.

He had become somewhat of a mascot at the company. At some point, long before I'd arrived, he stopped being "that turkey in the courtyard" and became Mr. Gobbles. Everyone at the company accepted him as part of the landscaping, walking by without a second glance. Everyone, except new people like me, that is, who took every opportunity to watch him. Eventually though, he became just another part of my workday, his presence no longer novel. He was still an anomaly, a great story to tell, just not something to marvel over each day. 

I stumbled across this article today. It seems his mate and offspring have made Kendall Square their home. I know Thanksgiving is a day to be eating turkeys, not reminiscing about them, but every year around this time (ok, yes, fine, while I'm eating one of his brothers (or sisters)) I think of Mr. Gobbles and wonder how he's doing. 

Have a happy Holiday, Mr. Gobbles and may you never end up on a Thanksgiving table.