Pattress has adopted the turkeys.
Every day she has sat by the fence, guarding them
until she’s called into her house.
But when I go out today to feed the turkeys,
Pattress isn’t at her post.
And when I feed the turkeys,
one is missing. I count them,
and still one is missing. Rufus,
the little one, is gone,
and a clump of feathers lies
behind the coop.
I run to the house
screaming, “Mama, something got the turkeys!”
Mama runs out with me, pulling on her sweater,
and I think a horrible thought:
Did it get Pattress, too?
“We have to find her . . . them. Quick!” I say,
and we go in different directions—
Mama looks around and inside the coop,
I circle the house
and then zigzag the backyard,
checking Mr. Dell’s yard, too.
But we don’t find Rufus or Pattress.
“I’m going to the woods,” I call to Mama.
She catches up with me,
and we run, calling “Pattress! Pattress!
Where are you, girl?”
All I want
is to see her running and leaping and barking.
“Pattress,” Mama calls, then puts her finger to her lips
for quiet. We listen,
and hear a low howl sift through the trees.
“Pattress!” I call, running toward the sound.
It gets louder.
Mama and I keep calling
as we run through the woods
toward it.
We find Pattress—
she’s lying near a tree
on her side. She lifts her head when we come near
and whimpers.
Feathers surround her,
and I know Rufus is dead.
But Pattress is alive
and when I touch her, she nuzzles my hand
and tries to lick it.
Blood oozes from her torn ear
and ragged scratches on her side.
“Get Mr. Dell,” Mama says. “I’ll stay here.”
But I ask, “Can you?” I don’t want to talk to him.
“I—can’t, Mimi. You know him better.”
I don’t like Mr. Dell,
and I don’t care if he doesn’t like me.
But I love Pattress, so
I pat her head. “You’ll be okay, girl,” I say,
afraid she won’t be,
and run back out of the woods
to Mr. Dell’s steps.
“Everything will be okay,” I tell myself,
afraid I won’t be.