54 THE WILD TURKEY. 



after resting a little, it would sail to the opposite shore, the river being there 

 nearly half a mile wide, and return towards night. One morning I saw it 

 fly off, at a very early hour, to the woods, in another direction, and took no 

 particular notice of the circumstance. Several days elapsed, but the bird 

 did not return. I was going towards some lakes near Green river to shoot, 

 when, having walked about five miles, I saw a fine large gobbler cross the 

 path before me, moving leisurely along. Turkeys being then in prime 

 condition for the table, I ordered my dog to chase it, and put it up. The 

 animal went off with great rapidity, and as it approached the Turkey, I saw, 

 with great surprise, that the latter paid little attention. Juno was on the 

 point of seizing it, when she suddenly stopped, and turned her head towards 

 me. I hastened to them, but you may easily conceive my surprise when I 

 saw my own favourite bird, and discovered that it had recognised the dog, 

 and would not fly from it; although the sight of a strange dog would have 

 caused it to run off at once. A friend of mine happening to be in search of 

 a wounded deer, took the bird on his saddle before him, and carried it home 

 for me. The following spring it was accidentally shot, having been taken 

 for a wild bird, and brought to me on being recognised by the red ribbon 

 which it had around its neck. Pray, reader, by what word will you 

 designate the recognition made by my favourite Turkey of a dog which had 

 been long associated with it in the yard and grounds? Was it the result of 

 instinct, or of reason, — an unconsciously revived impression, or the act of an 

 intelligent mind? 



At the time when I removed to Kentucky, rather more than a fourth of 

 a century ago, Turkeys were so abundant, that the price of one in the 

 market was not equal to that of a common barn-fowl now. I have seen 

 them offered for the sum of three pence each, the birds weighing from ten 

 to twelve pounds. A first-rate Turkey, weighing from twenty-five to thirty 

 pounds avoirdupois, was considered well sold when it brought a quarter of a 

 dollar. 



The weight of Turkey hens generally averages about nine pounds 

 avoirdupois. I have, however, shot barren hens in strawberry season that 

 weighed thirteen pounds, and have seen a few so fat as to burst open on 

 falling from a tree when shot. Male Turkeys differ more in their bulk and 

 weight From fifteen to eighteen pounds may be a fair estimate of their 

 ordinaiy weight. I saw one offered for sale in the Louisville market that 

 weighed thirty-six pounds. Its pectoral appendage measured upwards of a 

 foot. 



Some closet naturalists suppose the hen Turkey to be destitute of the 

 appendage on the breast, but this is not the case in the full-grown bird. 

 The young males, as I have said, at the approach of the first winter, have 



