Summary: A little tale about helping a friend in need and making wishes . . .

Rated: Family Friendly / Word count: 1108

 

Scrumptious

“Scrumptious,” Little Joe called out loudly as he entered the yard.

He ran towards the barn looking for the huge tom turkey that he and Hoss had become so attached to the last few months.

“There you are Scrump,” Little Joe exclaimed, entering the warm barn.

“Don’t call him Scrump,” Hoss chided, “his name’s Scrumptious.”

The boy’s older brother Adam had been the one to suggest the name for the bird, when they had purchased him earlier that spring. Neither boy knew what scrumptious meant, but they thought the name fit their plump little friend well.

“I can call him Scrump if I want to,” the six year old retorted.

Hoss just sighed and turned back to the bird. He was leaning over the pen, his head resting on his hands. He gazed sorrowfully at the now enormous turkey. Hoss hadn’t told Little Joe yet, but their pet was sentenced to be executed later that day for the family’s Thanksgiving dinner.

“Hoss,” Little Joe said inquiringly, “what does, bootchir, mean?”

Hoss scrunched up his face in puzzlement.

“Oh,” he answered finally, “you mean butcher?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” stated Little Joe impatiently, “what’s it mean?”

“Well,” Hoss wondered if there was a way to phrase this delicately, “it means to kill something, so that we can eat it.”

Hoss watched in amazement as Little Joe turned pale and then began wailing his head off.

“What’s wrong, Joe,” Hoss asked patting his distraught brother’s back anxiously.

“Hop Sing…Hop Sing said…he told Pa…he’s gonna butcher Scrumptious!” Little Joe hiccupped between sobs.

Hoss tried in vain for the next several minutes to comfort Joe, but the young boy just couldn’t understand the situation.

“Joe,” Hoss explained for the umpteenth time with all the wisdom of his twelve years, “tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, and you gotta have turkey to eat. It’s the rules.”

“Well, nobody’s gonna eat Scrumptious!” Joe replied hotly, “I won’t let ‘em!”

Hoss sighed again, shaking his head. He had no desire for the homely bird to be killed either, despite his love for a good turkey dinner.

The two forlorn figures sat dejectedly in the barn for the next half hour, patting their feathered friend comfortingly and offering him words of encouragement.

“Hey, Hoss,” Little Joe blurted suddenly, “I saw a turkey over at Mr. Gregor’s farm the other day. Me and Pa went over to bring him a ham, and he had one hanging in his smoke house.”

“So,” Hoss answered.

“So,” Little Joe continued in exasperation, “we could sneak over there and get that turkey. Mr. Gregor’d just figure it was coyotes or a bear or somethin’. Then Hop Sing wouldn’t have to kill Scrumptious.”

Hoss’s face had slowly been turning into one big frown as he listened to his brother’s wild scheme.

“Joe, I’m surprised at you!” he stated emphatically, “That would be stealing! If Pa found out we’d be dead meat!”

“Hoss,” Joe continued in desperation, “it wouldn’t be like the bad kind of stealing, we’d just be doin’ it to save Scrumptious’s life! Please, Hoss, please. Don’t let them kill Scrumptious.”

Little Joe had fallen to his knees, his hands clasped together as he looked pitifully at his older brother.

“Oh, alright,” answered Hoss in defeat, “but I’m only doin’ this to save his life, and you better do exactly what I tell ya to.”

“I will,” Little Joe promised enthusiastically.

The boys spent the next hour carefully going over their plan and when Hoss felt sure Little Joe understood his part, they proceeded to the house.

“Hop Sing,” Hoss said brightly entering the kitchen. “I just come to tell ya that you don’t need to worry about butchering that old turkey. It’s already been taken care of. He’ll be hangin’ in the smoke house pretty soon.”

Hop Sing looked at the boy in confusion for a moment.

“Someone already butcher turkey?” he questioned.

“Yep, figured we owed it to ya to help out some,
tomorrow bein’ such a busy day and all.”

Hop Sing grunted and then turned back to his baking; still looking somewhat suspicious.

“Good, at least that part’s over,” Hoss thought to himself, and then raced back to the barn where Little Joe was already waiting impatiently.

“Did you tell Pa we we’re goin’ for a ride,” asked Hoss breathlessly.

“Yep, and he said it was fine as long as we don’t go too far, and to be back before dark.” Joe repeated the instructions with a smile.

Hoss figured Pa would probably consider Mr. Gregor’s small farm as too far, but he was already committed to their “saving the bird” project. So, with no further delay the set out to accomplish their mission.

The next afternoon as the boy’s sat enjoying a slice of pumpkin pie after their bountiful meal. There came a knock at the door.

Ben rose to see who had come to visit and both Hoss and Joe cringed as they heard the voice of their neighbor, Mr. Gregor. His angry words carried over to the dining table and the boys could hear him ranting about a missing turkey, and small footprints near the scene of the crime.

Adam noticed his two younger brothers looking at each other in guilty silence.

“I only have one question,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “What did you do with Scrumptious?”

Hoss looked at Joe and Joe looked at Hoss, then the two looked at their older brother.

“He’s out in the woodshed,” answered Hoss miserably, “We were gonna take him up into the hills tomorrow and let him go.”

Adam watched his brothers’ fidget uncomfortably in their chairs for a moment, then suddenly reached out, grabbing the wishbone from the turkey plate.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to them, “each of you take a side and make a wish, whichever one get’s the biggest side will have their wish come true.”

The boys’ heard the front door slam and then the heavy footsteps of their father coming toward them. They quickly grabbed their side of the bone, made a desperate wish, and then pulled with all their might.

 

The end