"THE FLYING PHEASANT"

Long ago, some up the street neighbors would never buy a turkey for Thanksgiving: The man was stingy as all get out.  Supposing his wife was as well. But they had two kids—a boy and a girl, both of whom loved to tell everyone in the neighborhood that they never had a turkey for Thanksgiving. Never.

Everyone felt sorry for the kids but dared not ask why for all knew the answer. Stinginess abounded in their house plain and simple.

I remember offering the boy a turkey sandwich the day after Thanksgiving and he devoured it. “I’ve never tasted turkey before” he told me. “Yes, I know” was my reply. Felt pity and sorrow for not only him but for his sister as well. His sister was not out of the house much or I would have offered her a sandwich.

The year went whizzing by and it was almost time for Thanksgiving again.  I dreaded the cooking and the cleaning but when all was finished, it was well worth it to present a lovely turkey dinner for my family and friends. Mostly, I just sat at the table in a stupor as do most that fix a huge meal but I finally succumbed to a few bites of this and a few bites of that. “Leftovers would be even better” I always said to myself.

Both of my sons went out to play after the huge dinner and it wasn’t long before one came in and screamed “You will never believe what the boy up the street told me!” “What?” I asked. “A pheasant flew into the open kitchen window in the stingy people’s house up the street.” “You’ve got to be kidding” I remarked. “No, the boy told me that his dad picked it up and its neck was broken. His mom cooked the pheasant for Thanksgiving dinner.” “Do you know what a pheasant is?” I asked my son. “Yes. Well, I’ve seen pictures of one before” was his answer.

I just stood there stunned as did my relatives.

Was it a miracle that the pheasant just flew to their window? I can’t help but think that it was for there was no way that either parent would have spent that much money to buy one at a store.  Gratefulness washed over me thinking how the children must have enjoyed that once in a life time meal.

Remember seeing the boy days after Thanksgiving and he told me the entire story. Said it was the best dinner he’d ever had or his sister. No, I wasn’t about to ask if they had mashed potatoes, stuffing and the like for who knew?

That was the only time that a pheasant had been seen up here where I live and still is to this day.  At least their Thanksgiving had been miraculous to say the least—why the dinner flew into their window. How many times does that happen?

Sherry Hill

Published in the Charleston Gazette Mail

November 15, 2015