The Wilderness, Part I

Dripping wet from my morning shower, I tiptoe over to the window. The mountain air is chilly and I’m wearing nothing but a towel, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to sneak out onto the deck. Quiet and slow, I open the sliding glass door for a closer look. The turkeys hear me anyway and scuttle off, gobbling and leaving a trail of flying feathers.
A few days later, I’m on the couch half dozing, half watching a pink sunrise when I hear banging, like someone is using a hammer. Bang, bang, bang. My property manager is coming here today to help me stain the deck, but she’s arriving at 10:30am, not 6:30am. Bang, bang, bang. I’m at the writing retreat in Colorado. The closest neighbor is acres away. Who is that? The hammering sounds like it’s coming from . . . downstairs. On the ground level I follow the noise to the closed door of a storage room. The banging is louder. Urgent. I swing open and door and find myself face to face with a turkey. His head is cocked and he’s looking in at me from the yard outside, his beak pecking a small window.

Crazy bird was trying to break into my house. He wanted to eat a can of paint.