An entire tribe of turkeys was in the old goat pen yesterday morning, having flown over the eight-foot fence from Joel's vineyard. They grazed on the new grass just like the goats in the drizzling rain. Switching out girls on the stand, I saw that eight or so of the big birds had gone over into the new pen, leaving two behind. Those two ran up and down the line, crying their piteous call and poking their heads through the four-inch square wire fence that is all of four feet high. The dum-dums kept this up until I'd milked the last goat, finished my barn chores, and opened the gate between the two pens so the girls (and the turkeys) could go in. Before heading to the house, my last task always is to top off the water trough. Standing there is a pleasure as I check the weather, the surrounding hills, whatever wildlife might be around, and the girls. And then I saw them. I'm sure it was the same two silly turkeys, the ones who couldn't get over the little fence. There they were, sitting on branches in the big oak at the foot of the pasture, probably sixty feet off the ground. It's a good thing the wild turkey was not adopted as our national bird, as Benjamin Franklin supposedly suggested. They're just not smart.