Creature Feature: Turkeys . . . (And Cows And Geese)

Arthur Ludlow is in for a busy week . . . a busy and grisly week. It's Thanksgiving time, and, on his Sagaponack farm, that means time to prepare the turkeys for their place of honor at our tables.

Driving into the Ludlow homestead one is treated to a sight that is distressingly rare in these parts, two limpid-eyed glossy brown Jersey cows grazing on still-verdant pasture. The two cows, Nora, who at age 12 is entering her golden years, and her yearling daughter, Lily, as well as their sturdy equine companion, Bailey, are the treasured charges of Mr. Ludlow's wife, Stacy.

And their delightfully affable and good-natured demeanors clearly reflect the good care and affection that Mrs. Ludlow has lavished upon them.

When the majority of America's population lived on farms, Jerseys were a common sight. Their smaller size and the lower volume of milk they produce make them the ideal cow for the family farm.

Overzealous Gander

Now that tanklike Holsteins producing vast quantities of milk have become the cow of choice for large dairy operations, the smaller types of dairy cows are, sadly, dwindling in number, and several breeds are now teetering on the brink of extinction.

When disembarking from one's vehicle in the Ludlows' yard it is a wise idea to keep a wary eye out for the geese. "They know no fear," says Mr. Ludlow with a sorrowful tone in his voice, "but they know us [his family], so they leave us alone . . . usually."

Turkeys have been selectively bred to have a large breast, and this endeavor has been so successful that toms can no longer get close enough to successfully copulate with the hens.

The zealousness of the gander in protecting his territory knows no bounds. He bears the scars of his attempts to do battle with moving automobiles, which he apparently regards as malevolent trespassers. Bailey the horse is also a frequent object of his goosely wrath.

Symphony Of Noise

Mr. Ludlow related how the gander frequently grabs the horse's hind leg in his beak, which inevitably results in a kicked goose. Undeterred, the gander repeats his aggression the next time the horse is led into the barn. "Well, I guess that means that geese aren't much smarter than turkeys," observed Mr. Ludlow.

The birds of the season are kept some distance from the house. The reason for that becomes apparent as soon as one comes within earshot of them. Turkeys are noisy. And their repertory of vocalizations is not limited to gobbling, but contains peeps, squawks, chortles, and a variety of other not especially melodious but definitely mind-numbingly loud sounds.

On close observation, they are a most peculiar-looking bird with their scalloped wattles fluttering under their chins and the long, wormlike strip of flesh called the snood dangling along the top of their beaks.

Flashy Males

"They're fascinating to look at. You can really see the reptilian ancestry of birds in turkeys," said Mr. Ludlow. In the usual way of birds, the males are the flashier of the sexes, their wattles especially frilly, their snoods preposterously dangly, and their cheeks tinted a sky blue hue.

But if male turkeys, toms, look different from the hen turkeys in life, when they meet their Maker and arrive on our tables, the only difference between the sexes is in size. According to Mr. Ludlow, there is no difference in taste between toms and hens.

Mr. Ludlow, a potato farmer, raises the Nicholas breed of turkey and has been doing so for 30 years. He got his start while still in high school when a family friend with an excess of birds gave him a couple of dozen to raise.

All Spoken For

Acquiring a Ludlow bird for Thanksgiving has become a tradition among those who are particular about their turkeys. And if you haven't already reserved one, well, sorry . . . it's too late now! The several hundred birds in the Ludlow yard are all spoken for.

In July, when the birds arrived from the hatchery, they were so small that Mr. Ludlow could hold three in the palm of his hand. Shipped through the mail, the combined weight of the turkeys and the carton they came in was less than 10 pounds.

Slightly over four months later, the birds weigh between 18 and 24 pounds apiece. The combined weight of the birds in Mr. Ludlow's yard is now somewhat over 4,000 pounds. That is a lot of turkey.

A Turkey's Day

And what do turkeys do all day? "You're looking at it," said Mr. Ludlow. What I was looking at was eating, drinking, dust bathing, making a great deal of noise, and, on the part of the toms, strutting and squabbling.

Disagreements erupt between males with frequency. The two protagonists alternate in making a repetitive urgh sound culminating in a loud squawk. They shove each other, flap wings, and, if they are especially irate, grab their adversary's wattle in their beak and hang on.

These passionate disagreements don't appear to come to any conclusive ending but peter out with the two former rivals standing around looking vaguely puzzled as if they'd forgotten what the fight was about in the first place.

The Tragic Truth

The other toms within the immediate vicinity of the squabbles take a keen interest in the goings-on, but the hens respond to the masculine turmoil with blas‚ indifference.

They would cast an even colder eye on their male companions if they knew the whole truth. Turkeys have been selectively bred to have a large breast, and this endeavor has been so successful that toms, hampered by their ample fronts, can no longer get close enough to successfully copulate with the hens. Virtually all commercially raised turkeys are produced by artificial insemination.

Bigger breasts are not the only change that selective breeding has made in the birds. Turkeys are being bred to mature at a faster rate than ever before. Mr. Ludlow recalls, "I used to have to start raising the birds by Memorial Day to have them ready by Thanksgiving. Now I can start a month later."

Meeting My Dinner

Turkeys will actually keep growing to be close to double the weight that most of us know them at. But to cook a 50-pound bird, well, that takes quite a chef and quite an oven!

It was a great pleasure to meet my holiday dinner in advance and I look forward to renewing our acquaintance in a week's time. And I got the opportunity to ask a question that had been troubling me for some time.

Was it true that turkeys are so stupid that when it rains they gaze up at the sky with beaks agape in astonishment and thus drown in the rainwater? No, said Mr. Ludlow patiently, this is not true.