by Stephanie Music

Created on: November 13, 2009   Last Updated: November 17, 2009

I arrived at the farm on a flatbed truck in a little wire cage. I was only a young bird, barely old enough to be separated from my mom. I didn't know when I arrived what a journey was in store for me. I did know that the farm smelled nice; like clover and fresh cut hay. There was a little girl running toward the truck, giggling and jumping with excitement. She was a pretty little thing; sweet and innocent, every bit of seven years old. "Daddy! Daddy! Let me see the birdie! I want to hold him!"

"Matilda, you know what I said about making the livestock into pets. You can look, but don't touch him. Birds can carry germs." Daddy set the cage on the ground and walked into the farmhouse. Matilda stared at me, barely able to contain her excitement. She poked her chubby little fingers through the wire. Most birds would have pecked at them. I liked her, so I allowed her fingers to stroke my back. "I shall call you Mr. Feathers," she said with a smile. It wasn't the most regal name, but then neither was Matilda. Or Daddy. What kind of funny name was that?

It wasn't long till Daddy came back. He placed me in a pen out by the barn. It was nice, full of warm hay and plenty of food and drink; more than any bird could want! What nice people, even if they did have the strangest names! I sure was a lucky bird! Every day Matilda would visit me. I grew to have quite the affection for her. Sometimes Daddy would interrupt our visits. He would tell her, "Don't spend so much time with that bird. You know what will happen come Thanksgiving." I didn't know what Thanksgiving was or what was going to happen, but Matilda would always reassure me. "Don't worry. It'll be ok."

Months went by and soon the leaves were changing color. They made a nice bed when they fell into my pen. I had never felt so alive! Life was beautiful! I was given more food than I could ever eat. Sure, it wasn't very flattering for my figure, but I was happy. One morning, the barnyard was still and quiet in a way that I had never heard before. I didn't hear the rooster crow. I couldn't hear the milk pail clinking in the barn. What was going on? I poked my head through the wooden slats of the pen, struggling to get a look around. I saw a little robin pecking for worms in the mud. "Little robin," I said, calling him near. "What's happening in the barnyard today? It's so quiet!"

"Haven't you heard about Thanksgiving? Those of us who have been around for more than one season know what's going to happen. You see, the farmer

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