The husband likes to think he invented the Turducken in 1987, although his version was a quail stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a pheasant. A Pheaduckail, I guess. He claims it was delicious. I never want to find out.

In 1992, the husband brought home a rooster with long blonde feathers on his head that made him look like Sammy Hagar. The husband had to kill Sammy a few months later after a neighbor complained that she had been forced her to go on medication for nervous breakdowns due to Sammy’s habit of crowing at 3am.

In 1999, a neighbor asked the husband to kill a couple of turkeys she had. Thinking he could just chop off their heads, he was woefully unprepared. Those turkeys left him beaten and bloody and lived long, healthy lives. About six months ago, the husband found a dead owl on the side of the road while running errands. Not wanting to put it in the trunk of his car, he slipped it under a windshield wiper, thinking the wind would clean it. He ran errands all morning, the owl pinned to his windshield, as if there had been some sort of mid-flight tragedy in the woods.

When he got home after his errands, the husband looked at the owl, pulling its wings out from its body, pretending it was still flying, putting it so close to my face that I had no choice but to scream and punch him in the owl pellets. Repeatedly. Right now, the husband is engaged in a battle of epic proportions with a couple of stellar jays. These stellar jays have decided to make a nest on top of the light fixture on our front porch. The husband spends large portions of his day knocking down nests and yelling into the skies. The stellar jays spend large portions of their day rebuilding their nest and screaming at our front door.

Today, the husband thought he’d outsmarted the birds with a milk crate balanced on top of the light fixture. Tonight, there is a nest balanced on top of the milk crate balanced on top of the light fixture. I’ve got my popcorn, watching and waiting to see who wins. I’m rooting for the birds.

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